


Oh My God, They Were Roommates

by korns



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Accidental Kissing, Aged-Up Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Bisexual Killua Zoldyck, Embarrassed Gon Freecs, Eventual Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Gay Gon Freecs, Gon Freecs Loves Killua Zoldyck, Good Morning Call — Alternate Universe, Humor, Killua Being an Asshole, M/M, Pole Dancing, Protective Killua Zoldyck, Roommates, Slow Burn, Stripper Killua, Trans Character, Trans Gon Freecs, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, good morning call au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:01:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 125,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21936418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korns/pseuds/korns
Summary: After a terrible first semester, Gon transfers to a university in San Francisco where he gets a stellar deal on a one-bedroom apartment.At least, itwasa stellar deal until he moves in and realizes that he inadvertently signed a lease with a complete stranger as a roommate. Not only that, but his accidental roommate is the single hottest guy in his major, Killua Zoldyck, and everyone and their mother is trying to get with him.
Relationships: Gon Freecs & Killua Zoldyck, Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 251
Kudos: 1033





	1. Gotta Go My Own Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a throwback song, but it's [the song that fits](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3nbtKYXvA3s).

Freshmen weren’t…  _generally_ known to lease apartments, but Gon was a special case. A transfer student, in fact, from a university near his hometown. It seemed like the logical solution at the time—close to home so he could commute with the major he wanted to pursue—but that changed rapidly over the course of the first semester. 

His first semester in uni wasn’t fun—at all, really—which meant that transferring was yet another hassle on his plate of credits to manage. 

To top it off, he was moving. 

On his own.

For the first time.

It wasn’t like he  _planned it_ to happen like this, not really, anyway. His first semester at uni was trouble enough for his aunt, so he may or may not have intentionally signed a lease that put the move-in date conveniently over one of Aunt Mito’s business trips. 

“You sure you’ve got everything?” she said, peering skeptically through the windows of Gon’s car. He stepped in front of it with a sheepish smile, holding his arms out. The last thing he needed was Aunt Mito realizing that he didn’t pack the twelve hundred sweaters she bought him over every holiday. 

“Yup! Got everything,” he promised.

She perched her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. “And you’ll call me the  _second_ you get to San Francisco?”

“Maybe not the  _exact_ second—I’ll be driving when I get there and all that…”

“Then the  _second_ —the  _very_ second!—you get to the apartment?” she said, and Gon hummed his ascent. The deal was sealed with a kiss on the forehead before Gon was released to the world as one spritely, independent adult amidst the chaos of California. 

Gon galloped to the driver’s door and swung inside with one last wave to Aunt Mito. She waved back, a nervous smile on her face as she watched him pull away from the airport drive-in. She hiked up the handle on her suitcase and gave one last wave to him. He smiled, his throat tight with emotion as he watched her in his rearview mirror standing on the edge of the curb.

The closest thing he had to a mother was Mito. That much was certain.

“It’s okay. You can do this,” he told himself, both hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel despite how his hands and arms shook. “You. Are. An.  _Adult_ ! Time to do adult things! Be eighteen and  _prosper_ .”

It was difficult to prosper, though, when he was a freshmen outside of the dorms. Dorm life was where  _everything_ happened, and he really  _did_ want a dorm room for once with a roommate. But after the shitshow that was his first semester… a studio apartment was a good option. 

A safe option.

So perhaps it was better that the dorms were full for that semester. The office could call tomorrow, or next week, or next  _month_ with an opening and Gon could cancel his lease and swoop right in. He was a people person, dammit, and even if he wanted this one-person apartment to work, he couldn’t deny how much he wanted to mingle. Just thinking about it had him vibrating with anticipation, dancing in the driver’s seat as he sat in standstill traffic just outside of San Francisco, three hours away from Aunt Mito. 

“And this’ll be great,” he told himself, firmly, with conviction. “It’s not every day a single apartment crops up in San Fran for only fifteen hundred a month! Definitely doable.” Sure, it was pricey, but it was  _nothing_ when he saw the gorgeous pictures and the virtual walkthrough tour with the realtor. It was a dream come true. Downtown San Francisco, a freshmen in college! For only fifteen hundred a month! He never heard of anything so perfect in his entire life!

It would just make him more desirable, he was sure of it. He’d host  _all of the parties_ . Everyone would want to hang out with him. As he waited in traffic, he played the part of cool, calm, collected sophomore boys asking him, “ _Where should we hang out?_ ” to which he’d reply with a sultry tone, “ _Your place or mine_ ,” and they’d say, “ _Yours, baby. I’m all yours_ .”

Gon squealed with excitement, drumming his hands on the wheel at a redlight.  _Yes_ , this would be a semester to remember.

In downtown San Francisco, Gon routed his GPS to the nearest coffee shop from his future apartment. “Oh, excuse me, my  _current_ apartment,” Gon corrected himself in a haughty tone, fanning his cheeks as he did so. The coffee shop workers would  _definitely_ get to know him around here, that much was certain. 

Gon twirled out of the driver’s side and locked the door behind him—his entire  _life_ was in there, anyway. Humming to himself, he looked both ways before bounding across the street and hopping the curb, a skip in his light footsteps. 

It wasn’t that he  _needed_ coffee, by any means, but having something to keep himself occupied was a must. Besides, there was nothing wrong with a little extra energy when it came to unboxing and moving everything in. So he approached the cash register with his sights on a matcha latte, certainly not expecting to turn around and come face-to-face with heaven itself.

Gon startled as he turned towards the end of the counter. There, next in line in that narrow, quaint coffee shop, was the single most beautiful specimen Gon ever did see. There were plenty of beautiful specimens, definitely, and Gon had met quite a handful of them and made a right gay mess of himself, definitely, but this  _beauty_ …

“Oh, sorry,” Gon said, startled dumb.

“It’s whatever,” the guy said, and stepped towards the cash register. Gon moved out of the way, awkwardly, still staring at the guy’s profile. They met eyes one last time, just long enough for Gon to confirm that  _yes_ , they were in fact blue as the Pacific and hair as white as the reflection of the clouds.

Heat flushed to Gon’s cheeks as he turned away, clearing his throat. He went down to the end of the counter, passing customers as he went, and peered back at the guy as he was telling the barista, “Just a mocha with a shot, please.”

Gon wondered why he was always attracted to Asians. Was that racist of him? Or did it just mean he had a type? Gon put a finger to his chin, suddenly perplexed and morally mortified. Maybe he  _was_ racist… This required more internal communication—reflection, if you will. Right. He needed to be more self-aware. He’d do better next time, whatever that meant. 

But then he was standing directly next to the guy with the bleached-white hair and blue eyes, and by God, he was still sweating. Gon plucked at the front of his t-shirt to cool himself down, but that just called attention to himself.

Those blue eyes slid to his direction.

“Sorry,” Gon said, barely above a squeak. He dropped his hands to his side.

“By all means, continue,” the guy said, and Gon snorted a little. “What?”

Gon giggled again, blushing. “Nothing. It’s just—You’re really funny.”

The guy rose an eyebrow and turned away with a hesitant, “Uh… Thanks?”

“And cute,” Gon added, just to spice up his self-loathing. 

The guy didn’t respond. Instead, they both turned in different directions and Gon put a hand to his hair, eyes wide with horror.  _WHAT HAVE I DONE?!_ he screamed internally, but screaming internally wouldn’t do the situation any good. It was too late.  _Far_ too late.

Gon’s name was called. 

He lurched forward, and the panic inside of him squeezed out, “Present!” from his worthless mouth like he was in class responding to roll call. The instant he said it, reaching for the tea, he closed his eyes and willed himself to die. 

He grabbed the tea and booked it out of there faster than he’d ever booked in his entire life. Running across the sidewalk, he took the first break in traffic to leap to his car, self-deprecating horror leeching through every fiber of his small, gay body. After slamming the tea into the cup holder, slamming the door, Gon slammed his forehead onto the wheel and groaned.

“Great start, Gon, great start,” he sighed, straightening up. He took a deep breath, reached for the tea, and drowned his sorrows away with the sweet, sweet taste of overly-processed matcha. It hit the spot that needed to be filled and buried alive.

The apartment was just down the road by two blocks and a posted at the corner of the street. The Design District was populated by low-rise warehouse buildings and, unlike those, the apartment complex Gon would be living in was one of few multistoried brick buildings, all of which seemed to populate that same street corner. There was a row of polished, modern apartment buildings just before it, and Gon marveled at them all—from the grungy warehouses to the arched windows, the blocky apartments, the minimalist architecture. 

_So this is my neighborhood_ , he thought, pulling up in front of the brick apartment building with elegant, white-framed windows. 

He stepped out of the car, tea in hand, and locked the door behind him. His car wasn’t exactly  _new_ , and without a fob, the key worked just fine. He gave the hood of his car a light, affectionate pat as he wandered to the main door. 

Inside, he found the office closed and a note posted on the door. He squinted at it. 

“‘Out for lunch… be back at twelve.’” He checked his watch. It was half past one in the afternoon. He checked his email and, sure enough, there was a message left indicating a lock box code where he could get the apartment key. 

He added it to his keychain, a smile on his lips. He held it up to the light as he emerged from the building, triumphant and in possession of The Key, the item that gave him access to a new, fantastic life. He gave it a kiss, did a little dance, and popped the trunk open on his car. Now, it was time to  _move in_ .

He spent an hour pulling boxes up from his car and testing the results of his work out regimen as he did so. The apartment was sweet, quaint, but _large_ for a single San Francisco apartment. The living area was wide and spacious and blended smoothly into the kitchen. From the foyer, there was a small hallway where a bathroom sat. There, he closed the door, sat a floor length mirror to the side, and stuck a Command hook to the back of the door. He held it still, counting down from thirty until the adhesive stuck. 

He was counting down to twenty when he heard the front door open.

_Oh, wait, I’m only at twenty-one!_ he cried internally, but he could see the shadow of footsteps beneath the bathroom door, padding into his apartment, down the hall, and to the living space. He counted relentlessly, his finger pressing  _so hard_ into the Command hook that that it shook. 

At thirty, he released the hook and swung the door open—careful not to shatter the mirror where it sat, waiting against the wall.

The sound of the door bursting open startled his guest, and startled Gon as well. Not because he was scared, necessarily, but because he was surprised to see another head of bleach-white hair around.

And then the intruder whirled around.

Gon yelped when his eyes met those of the beautiful coffee shop guy.

He pointed a finger at the guy and cried, “You—!”

The guy pointed a hesitant finger to himself and said, “Why… Why are you in my apartment?”

Gon jolted, thrusting his hands to his sides. “This—! This is  _my_ apartment! And what are  _you_ doing in it?”

The guy held up his key, pointed to it, and said, “I literally  _walked in_ . I have a key.”

_A key? How could there be two!_ The more Gon thought about it, the more his brain wanted to implode. But before it could overheat, he came to a solid, logical conclusion that  _had_ to be the answer.

Gon raised his fist, slapped it onto his outstretched palm, and declared, “You must be from the main office! Only maintenance would have a spare key.”

The guy’s (beautiful, stunning, distracting) blue eyes narrowed into a dull, flat facade. “Seriously, what the fuck are you doing in my apartment.”

Gon’s eye twitched. “Well, that rules out the maintenance theory…” he hummed, tapping his key to his chin. He pointed to the front door and said, “Prove that your key works. I might have just left it unlocked, you know!”

Gon led the way to the hallway, and the white-haired guy followed suit. As they marched, Gon said, “I’ve already moved in all of my boxes so if it comes down to it, I’ve basically already staked my claim—”

The door behind him shut. He turned just as it locked, and the white-haired guy was no where in sight. Gon blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked either way down the hall. Not a soul in sight.

He squinted at the peep hole on the door,  _knowing_ that the coffee shop guy was looking athim through it, muttering to himself, “What a weirdo,” before turning and leaving. 

The white-haired beauty from the coffee shop  _could_ be named as such, but it was quite the mouthful. It made more sense to call him Killua Zoldyck, or rather, just Killua because his family was dead to him. The last thing Killua wanted to deal with was people that day, but there he was, in an apartment filled with boxes that didn’t belong to him, and a weirdo from the coffee shop banging on the door. 

_Sounds like they don’t have a key after all_ , Killua thought, hands on his hips. The living space was bland, open, and empty all except for the boxes that person brought in. 

And then, Gon remembered to use his key. 

The instant Gon burst in, triumphant, Killua cursed and immediately thought to himself,  _This must be what hell is like_ . 

Unlike Gon, who was here simply because the dorms had no vacancy, Killua was still within commuting distance from his family’s house. San Francisco, however, was a vast, colorful city—plenty of neighborhoods to disappear into, if he was lucky. The last thing Killua wanted was for this situation to force him back to his parent’s house.

_Fat chance_ , he thought, clenching his fists at his sides. 

And, unlike Gon, Killua’s family was another matter entirely. He’d rather not get into it, or even drag it into his desperation then and there when the idiot stranger from the coffee shop burst in, key in hand, declaring, “Aha! My key works!”

Killua seethed internally. This was the one and only shot he had at a regular, normal living situation—he didn’t want to share any consequences with a  _roommate_ . It was a single apartment, dammit! And it was his and his alone.

He stormed to the door, the speed at which he did so startling a squeak out of Gon. On the way to the door, Killua grabbed the kid by the wrist and hauled them out into the corridor and down the stairs. The guy yelped and cried, “Where are we going?! Let go of me!”

“I’m talking to the building managers,” Killua said. 

However, the instant they reached the first floor of the building, they were faced once again with the locked office doors and the pitch-black room where a secretary was  _supposed_ to be. Killua squinted through the windows, skeptical, and tried the handle with a forceful tug. It did nothing.

He pulled out his phone with an annoyed huff. “For fuck’s sake…” he groaned, pulling up the contact details of the rental agent he emailed his lease to. 

As he waited for his call to be put through, Gon picked at his keyring and worried his lip between his teeth. The call never went through, though. 

“Do you have a copy of your lease?” Killua asked, and Gon scrambled for his phone. 

They went back up to the apartment as they assembled their materials. Sitting on the empty kitchen floor, Gon handed his phone over to Killua, and Killua did the same, so they could read through the lease agreements they had both recieved. Killua had read it front to back several times before signing and had even gotten a second pair of eyes on it. He knew it like the back of his hand. 

When he reached the signature at the bottom, he squinted at it and said, “‘ _Gon’?_ Your name’s Gon?”

“Oh! I never introduced myself,” Gon exclaimed. He put out a hand and said, “Nice to meet you, despite the… weird circumstances. My name’s Gon Freecss.”

Killua squinted even further at Gon’s hand before taking it and giving it a firm shake. “Killua. And it looks like our leases are the same. Same timeframe, same address, unit number… This is bullshit. I think their main offices are closer to downtown.”

“We don’t have to do that right now,” Gon insisted, waving his hands, but Killua was already taking his phone back to look up the address. 

Killua got up, and Gon remained frozen in his place until Killua backtracked and said, “You coming or what? This involves you, too.”

“O-Oh! Right, sorry!” Gon yelped, leaping to his feet.

It was all for naught, however, because the moment Gon parked his car in front of the office in question, Killua looked out with a sigh and left the passenger door open as he went to investigate the locked front door and the dark, empty windows. Gon leant against his steering wheel and wondered how it was possible for him to be in this situation. Just half an hour ago he was hanging a mirror on the back of the bathroom door and now? 

Now he was on a wild goose chase with the hot guy from the café.

“This could either be good or bad luck…” he sighed, pressing his cheek to his forearms as he watched Killua pace the sidewalk, phone to his ear, a furious expression on his face like he was two seconds away from kicking Gon’s precious car into the Bay.

“This is hopeless,” Killua huffed, dropping back into the car. He slammed the door and Gon immediately winced.

“Careful—my car is fragile,” Gon said, only to receive a withering glare in reply. Gon turned away with a mumbled, “Sorry.”

Killua slapped the hardcopy of his lease onto the dashboard and put his hands over his face. Gon refrained from apologizing again—clearly, apologizing didn’t improve the situation. Gon looked away, biting his lip. He didn’t know what to say in situations like this, but now it made him wonder if he was even  _ready_ to be an adult. Was being an adult a scam, just like their leases? No, it was all just a misunderstanding.

Then… Was being an adult just a slew of misunderstandings?

Gon put a hand to his tense, throbbing forehead. His head hurt. 

When Killua spoke again, it was from out of left field and startled Gon all over again. “Okay. Next place—take a right at the next stop sign.”

Gon was too terrified of making the wrong move, so he complied with Killua’s directions. They wound up on a side of San Francisco Gon had never been to, and unfortunately, he had been too scatter-brained to pay any attention. By the time he realized this, they were far from the apartment and Gon began to process the fact that he was in a car, alone, with a complete stranger.

Gon’s eyes widened, horrified, after parking the car. Killua unlocked the passenger door and moved to step out, only to stop when Gon asked, “You aren’t… gonna  _murder me_ , are you?”

“The fuck?” Killua said with a scoff. “Get out of the car, you idiot. I’m gonna need your lease here too.” 

* * *

A tall man in black leather and combat boots pulled a cigarette from between his lips and blew the smoke to the wind. It distinctly felt like they were engaging in a drug deal up at the highest peak of San Francisco, overlooking the city from a measly little park occupied only by tourists. 

Gon crossed his arms against the breeze, his phone in the hands of this  _stranger_ Killua dubbed Chrollo.

Chrollo read through Gon’s lease before handing his phone back. He stuck the cigarette back to the corner of his mouth as he went on to examine the hardcopy Killua retrieved from the movie truck rental he was using. 

Chrollo flipped page after page before sighing and handing it back. He leant his hip against the railing. The man clearly had no fear of death because that had to be a surefire way to die if the railing didn’t hold out. Gon’s heart skipped. 

“Sounds to me like you two were scammed. Not the fault of either of you, but I imagine you’ve both already made your security deposits and first month’s rent. No way in hell you’re getting them back now.”

“ _What?_ ” Gon cried, horrified. That was already $1,800 down the drain he wouldn’t get back!

“You’ve  _got_ to be shitting me,” Killua groaned, hands over his face. He took the lease back and slapped it to his side, furious. “Who gets to live there?”

Chrollo put a hand in his pocket and shrugged. “Whoever can scrape up the three grand for rent this month gets the apartment.”

“ _Three thousand?!_ ” Gon and Killua cried, horrified. All of the blood in Gon’s body drained from his system and sent him staggering, woozy. He put his hands to his head and moaned, “It said rent was only fifteen hundred…”

“Yeah, well, ya aren’t getting a single bedroom apartment in the Design District for under three thousand. Killua—you showed me pictures of it, right?”

It took a second for Killua to reply. Gon glanced at him and found Killua staring into space as he cleared his throat. “R-Right.”

“It looked like there were two bedrooms. In any case, it’s cheap for a two bedroom apartment, that’s for sure. But again, rent’s three thousand. If you can manage that, then fuck it. The place is yours.”

Chrollo pushed off of the railing and asked if they needed anything else. When Killua shook his head, Chrollo gave a soft wave and dismissed himself with that voice of his that sounded like a nature documentary narrator. 

Gon waved after him, saying, “Nice meeting you…” in a dejected tone. His hand slumped to his side. 

“Well, that settles it,” Killua said. Gon looked up at him. “The place is mine.”

Gon’s amygdala started on fire and in the split second panic between fight or flight, Gon settled on fight. “What? No way! You can afford paying three thousand for rent  _a month?_ ”

Killua’s eye twitched and he sneered as he said, “ _No_ , but I’ll figure it out. Don’t you have family around here?”

“Uh, yeah, three hours  _away_ . A-And it’s complicated!” Gon insisted. He didn’t have  _anyone_ in San Francisco aside from people his aunt worked with. Not exactly the sort of people Gon would go to begging to house him for a semester. “And I have classes starting soon, so I  _need_ to live here. The semester starts  _tomorrow_ .”

Killua rolled his eyes, hands in his pockets. “Well, I’m not living with another person.”

“It—It wouldn’t be forever!” Gon insisted. Killua eyed him dully, unconvinced, as Gon surged on. “Just until we find a new place! And we’d splint the rent and be paying the fifteen hundred we agreed on.”

Killua clenched his fists at his sides. Rationally, he knew Gon knew nothing about him. There was no reason for this idiot stranger to even  _consider_ how terrible a decision it was to live with Killua. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” he hissed. 

“I’ll be a great roommate!” Gon insisted. “Just two guys being dudes! We can play video games and watch  _sports_ and whatever else dudes do _—_ ”

“That’s not the issue,” Killua snapped, and Gon immediately shut his mouth. 

Killua paced away, and Gon’s brain turned frantic for an answer. He couldn’t afford to pay three thousand a month! He was already asking so much of his aunt, and this would just be pushing the limit of her generocity. Gon wanted to be his own person, dammit! and the first step to doing that was living on his own. He’d prove to his aunt that he was a young, capable adult. He wouldn’t go crying to her over this.

Killua started to turn back. Gon scrambled for something to do, and in an instant, he summoned tears to his eyes and whispered with exaggerated dejection, “I-I can’t afford the three thousand…”

Killua hesitated, frozen at the sight of tears bubbling along Gon’s lower lashes. He looked away, cursing under his breath. Gon glanced up at him before putting his hands to his cheeks, looking down, “I can’t g-go back home…” he moaned, miserably. “I have  _no one h-here_ …”

Gon let out a weak, gasping sob. He paused, glancing up at Killua, who was intentionally not looking at Gon, arms crossed over his chest, brow tense and forehead wrinkled with distress. Killua started to look at him, so Gon covered his face, fake sobbing. 

“Fuck _—Fine_ , just—just stop crying, alright?” Killua hissed, waving a hand at Gon. 

Gon stopped instantly. “Really? You’ll be my roommate?” 

“Jesus, you really sprung back from the grave there, huh?”

Gon gasped with excitement, wiping tears from his face as he said, “You won’t regret this, I promise! I’ve never had a roommate but I’ll try my best!”

Killua was already regretting it, but it was too late. Soon, he was back at the apartment where his rental truck sat on the curb of their hill. Gon’s pathetic car beeped when he locked it and turned his keys to the foyer entrance. They propped the door open and started the ascent with Killua’s boxes to their flat. 

Gon pulled a box from the top of the stack in the back of the truck. Killua’s heart nearly gave out at the sight of it, and every horror story imaginable flitted across his mind—the box, ripping open at the seams. The box, tipping backwards and spilling all of its contents onto the pavement. Gon, curious and intrusive enough to open it himself. 

Killua snatched it from Gon. “I-I’ll take this one. I don’t need your help, you know.”

“I don’t mind, really,” Gon said with a ignorant smile and went to take the next box. Killua scowled at him and started towards the door, clutching the box to his chest and wishing this day would just be over already. Maybe he was asleep and this was all just a horrible, dreadful nightmare. 

He climbed the steps and unlocked their flat with his own set of keys. Looking at the keys made him sick. With a sigh, he pushed inside and wandered into the open living space as Gon’s foot caught the closing door and nudged it open. 

“Sorry—I sort of claimed the right room. But I can take the left one, too, if you’d like!” Gon said. Killua could see boxes stacked in the right room through the crack in the door. 

“Which, uh… which has a larger closet?” Killua asked. 

“I don’t know,” Gon said, so they went to investigate. Killua kept the box clutched to his chest as the two of them examined the rooms. Sure enough, one  _did_ seem to be an office space, as it had no closet to speak of. It just so happened to be the room Gon picked. 

Gon scratched absently at his hair and said, “Well, not surprised. I don’t have that many clothes, so I didn’t think to check.”

“Left room for me it is,” Killua said. 

“You start unpacking! I can take care of the boxes!” Gon said, and before Killua could argue, Gon was already bounding through the living area and disappearing into the foyer. The front door shut shortly after. 

Killua wandered into the second bedroom. The closet  _was_ spacious, and Killua had to believe this was the one good thing out of all of the bullshit of that day. He shelved the box and, gently, tore the tape from the top. Its contents weren’t meant to be folded up like that, so he set to work hanging them in the corner behind the open closet door. 

Layers of lace and shiney, sheer fabrics occupied the box, each one more elaborate than the last. Killua flattened them out as he extracted them, and when Gon came back in, oblivious, Killua hid the lingerie behind the door and ordered his makeshift moving guy to leave the boxes just inside the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're looking for MEMES, I've started [a Tumblr account](https://killugon-memes.tumblr.com/) specifically for my killugon fics and the memes peeps on the discord make (Jerry, mostly Jerry lol)


	2. Separate Ways—Worlds Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it turns out, Gon and Killua attend the same university and are in the same major, which means... they're in the same classes. Great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song for the chapter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UsdGgRL1xHc&list=RDrXs9MXrHxVE&index=40) :D

**F** irst day of classes and Gon was already losing his mind again. It was the car ride all over again—dreamy, full of hopeful, lovely scenarios only to be crushed incessantly by his brain’s inability to filter out the Worst Case Scenarios Of The Century. Gon, with his hair looking  _stunning_ (it  _was_ his best feature, by far, right next to his  _p e r s o n a l i t y_ ) and brand new book bag to boot. 

Ah, yes, Gon Freecss was ready to kick his Official, Actual First Semester of Freshmen Year in the ass. 

Gon swept his backpack onto his shoulders and swung open the bedroom door. The instant he did, Killua’s door opened and Gon was reminded that he had a roommate he hadn’t anticipated. He didn’t expect that news to be so refreshing. A  _roommate_ . While it cancelled out every chance he had of calling this apartment a bachelor pad, it was still a relief to have a place occupied by someone else— _anyone_ else. 

He was sick of spending every morning, day, and evening alone. It wasn’t at the fault of his aunt, by any means. Ever since his grandmother passed away—the soul subject of Gon’s attention before and after grade school—Gon realized how much time Aunt Mito spent away.

And, so, Gon stepped out with a cheery, “ _Good_ morning—!” like he was on a radio talkshow. He spun to the side and found Killua dressed in his everyday best, one strap of a backpack over his shoulder.

In that moment, Gon wondered why Killua being a student never crossed his mind.

“Wait—You’re—” Gon started, and Killua sighed, walking ahead. Clearly, he was already done with the day. “You’re going to class? You’re a student?”

“ _Yes_ , I’m a student. I’m a freshmen, dude.”

“ _What?!_ ” Gon screamed, and Killua flinched. It was far too loud for the morning, but Gon’s energy levels were skyrocketing faster than he anticipated that day. “What college?”

“USFC.”

Gon’s heart leapt into his throat.  _They went to the same college_ . Gon was so shocked by this that he didn’t say a damn thing, not even as Killua started for the foyer and opened the door to leave. 

Gon kicked back into gear. He leapt across the pathetically empty living room and to the door where he slipped on his sneakers and said, “Since we go to the same college, we should—”

“I’m not commuting with you,” Killua said all matterof-factly. It came out in such a way that Gon felt borderline offended by it. Was there something wrong with him? Why wouldn’t Killua want to commute together? 

Killua turned to him, his hand on the door handle. Gon straightened, dropping his foot to the floor as Killua said, “And if you see me on campus, do me a favor and don’t talk to me.”

Killua punctuated the request by opening the door and promptly shutting it in Gon’s face.

Gon collected every last shard of his self-worth that Killua shattered right then and then. With it, he mustered up his fury and muttered under his breath, “Well  _fine_ , wasn’t like I wanted to walk with you  _anyway_ .”

Campus wasn’t all that far from their apartment, but in San Francisco’s January temperatures, the Pacific brought a morbidly cold breeze through the city’s streets. Gon was certain his car privileges would come in handy in winter and, for that reason and that reason alone, he was grateful to have brought it to the city. Traffic may have been shit and parking may have been even shittier, but at least he’d be warm. 

Internally, Gon was just  _waiting_ for the day Killua would decide that he couldn’t stand the cold walks anymore. Killua would have to depend on  _him_ to get to classes without freezing his butt off. 

_Then_ I _will be the superior roommate_ , Gon thought, but Killua had to cave first. 

Gon paused at the apartment building foyer. 

The chances of Killua caving first were slim to none, he could just tell.

“ _Dammit_ ,” he grumbled, pushing through the door and onto the streets. Killua was already at the end of the block, crossing the street. 

When Gon peeled away from the curb in his dinky little car, he glided past the intersection and slowed where he could see Killua’s head of white hair on the sidewalk between parked cars. Gon slowed to match Killua’s walking pace and put down his passenger window. 

Killua glanced at him, immediately cursed, and looked away as if he didn’t recognize Gon. 

“It’s really cold outside!” Gon said, teasingly, and Killua rolled his eyes. “I’ll drive you to class!”

“Fat chance!” Killua shouted back. “Leave me alone,  _Freecss_ .”

Gon frowned. He knew what he was supposed to do, but he didn’t want to do it. But he was a  _man,_ dammit, and ‘no’ meant no! So Gon scowled as he put up the window and drove on ahead. He hated being a gentlemen sometimes—that shit was  _hard work_ . He just wanted to give Killua a ride, so what was wrong with that?

These thoughts simmered inside of him all the way to campus where he found a parking spot two blocks from his lecture hall. Perhaps if he had ignored that exchange with Killua, he would have gotten over it by then, but  _nope_ . He couldn’t forget or forgive the way Killua dismissed him all of that morning. 

Sure, neither of them expected to be roommates, but the least Killua could give him was an ounce of respect.

It was for this reason that Gon sat, scowling in the lecture hall, arms crossed, brooding, and muttering under his breath. It was for all of  _these_ reasons that no one should have approached him, but by some stroke of luck, one of his peers was idiotic enough to engage anyway.

“Is this seat taken?”

Gon looked up. A guy that, quite possibly, was shorter than  _him_ was standing there looking  _dapper_ in a jean jacket and khakis. Gon’s jaw dropped.  _How did I already snag one?_ he thought, amazed, before stammering, “Y-Yes—I mean, by you.”

The guy smiled. He had the most powerful set of eyebrows Gon had ever seen. 

“I don’t recognize you from last semester,” he said, and Gon nearly blushed.  _Nearly_ .

“Y-Yeah, I just transferred here,” Gon confessed. 

“Interesting. Classes are pretty small here so I’m sure you’ll get to know  _all_ of us,” he said, shifting close with his elbow on the armrest between them. He put a hand out to Gon and they shook on it. “Zushi.”

“Gon.”

“Nice to meet you,” Zushi said, and the two of them shared sheepish, eager smiles. Gon turned away, giggling, and clasped his hands together between his legs. 

In that moment, Zushi gasped, and Gon jumped to attention. He followed Zushi’s wave towards the door to the small lecture room where a buff, stocky guy walked in. The guy froze, slapped a hand to his chest as if shot, and Zushi followed up with fake shooting noises like, “ _Pew! Pew!_ ”

“Oh! God!” the guy choked out, falling against the doorframe. As he did so, an older gentlemen approached from behind, looking disinterested and slightly annoyed by the scene. 

Zushi gasped and signaled for the guy to  _cut it out_ . When he turned, he cursed and staggered into the room, saying, “Sorry, Professor.”

Gon put a hand over his mouth as the class giggled to themselves. 

“Take your seat, Mr. Bine.”

_Mr. Bine_ , it seemed, saluted their professor and took to the steps. Zushi was beside himself next to Gon, hands over his face, a smile on his lips as his friend came to join them. He claimed the seat on Gon’s other side and slung an arm back behind Gon’s chair and the chair opposite him. 

Gon flushed, overwhelmed by the attention when the guy leant over and said, “Nice to meet you, newbie. Knuckle.”

“G-Gon,” Gon said.

Knuckle inclined his head in a half-bow and said, “G-Gon, nice to meet you.”

Zushi reached over to slap Knuckle on the knee. Knuckle propped his ankle up on his opposite leg and snickered, looking thoroughly amused and not at all ashamed of what just transpired at the front of the classroom.

Their professor went to the whiteboard as the class continued to mingle. Gon watched as the man wrote  _Professor Wing_ on the board and followed up with contact info and office hours. 

“Are we making a new friend this semester?” Knuckle asked, drawing Gon’s attention back to him, and then to Zushi, who the question was targeted towards. 

“Of course we are,” Zushi said. “I called dibs.”

“Dibs?” Gon squeaked.

“So, Gon,” Knuckle said, and his intimidation level skyrocketed to nine thousand. Gon started sweating despite himself as Knuckle leant in, a deadly expression on his face. “What dorm are you in.”

“I-I’m not in the dorms,” he confessed. 

Zushi whistled low. “Oh, wow. But you are a freshmen, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Interesting,” Knuckle hummed, stroking his chin, eyes narrowed skeptically.

Gon smiled, emotionally and mentally weak. “I’m still pretty close to the dorms, though. They were full, so… I got an apartment instead.”

“Are you kidding me?” Zushi gasped, and Gon jolted, looking back to Zushi, who’s jaw was in his lap. “That’s  _awesome!_ God, I can’t wait to have an apartment. I’m sick of having to share a room.”

“It’s been  _one semester_ ,” Knuckle said.

“Yeah, and I’m  _sick of it_ ,” he insisted.

The clock ticked closer and closer to the starting time of class. Within the last minute before lecture, however, the door to the room opened and Gon’s attention honed in on the brightest goddamn thing in the room—that white hair and pale complexion of a very,  _very_ familiar face. 

Gon  _knew_ what Killua had told him—or, more accurately,  _threatened_ him to do—and so the brief flit of tension in his shoulders dissipated. He wouldn’t acknowledge Killua. He’d give Killua what he wanted and, in due time, Killua would regret deciding to alienate himself. Gon was sure of it.

He folded his arms, knowing that Killua had seen him, and as he did, he heard a soft curse being uttered by Zushi and, likewise, Knuckle.

Knuckle sucked in a sharp breath and all but groaned, “ _Fuuuck_ .”

“What is it?” Gon said. It seemed too coincidental that his two new lecture buddies would curse within the same few seconds of Killua’s entry.

Zushi put out a hand to Gon, silencing them both. “Okay, okay, this is something that needs to be explained  _ASAP_ or so help me God, one of us might make a mistake and by ‘one of us’ I mean Gon.”

“Right,” Knuckle agreed.

“What mistake? What am I doing?” Gon said, straightening a little. Both Knuckle and Zushi slapped their hands onto Gon’s shoulders as if to stop him from lurching out of his seat and straight into Killua’s arms. Knuckle shoved Gon back into the seat—not that he was  _going anywhere_ in the first place.

The three of them discretely (albeit, quite obviously) watched as Killua climbed the steps to the very back of the classroom. He shed his backpack from his shoulder, set it on the ground, and turned to take a seat. The three of them whipped back around to avoid being spotted as stalkers. 

Only then did Gon catch several  _other_ people in the classroom doing the same exact thing. A group of girls all turned to one another, whispering and giggling to themselves as Gon eyed Zushi wearily out of the corner of his eye. 

“ _That_ ,” Zushi said, “is Killua Zoldyck.”

Gon waited for more, but that was all Zushi had to say on the matter. “That’s… it? What’s so special about him?” Gon said.

Knuckle sighed obnoxiously. “He’s, like, the only bi kid in our major.  _That we know of_ .”

The gates of Heaven opened. A chorus of angels swept a chorus of beautiful melodies through the air. Gon’s gay heart opened like his legs manspreading in that lecture hall the way he desperately hoped for some beautiful queer boy to live in proximity to him. Initially, that daydream meant a dorm or two over from his own, but alas, he was living within the 900 square feet of their apartment.

But that wasn’t for Knuckle and Zushi to know.

“So? Bi people exist,” Gon said, completely chill, like he  _wasn’t_ living with the sole, bi individual in their major.

“ _So?_ ” Knuckle hissed. “He’s hot as fuck, aced every midterm last semester,  _and_ has a full ride here. The dude got a perfect score on the SAT in high school.”

“ _And_ he’s super emotionally unavailable and I think that’s hot,” Zushi sighed dreamily, slumping against his seat. 

“So… I take it you  _both_ are gay,” Gon said.

“I am,” Zushi sighed, wistful like a Disney princess. “Knuckle’s repressed.”

Knuckle gasped, horrified. “Am not! I’m also emotionally, mentally, and physically unavailable,” Knuckle explained. When Gon rose an eyebrow at him, he went on to say, “I’m on the USFC track team. I don’t have  _time_ for relationships.”

“Ah,” Gon said, though he didn’t understand at all.

“Alright, class,” Professor Wing declared. “This should be your first semester of theory and if it isn’t, I’d  _highly_ suggest revisiting your schedule to make sure you’re in the right room.”

Gon thought about Killua’s sexual orientation all through lecture, which consisted of syllabi being handed out, and an overwhelming sense of dread upon reading about the entire repertoire required of the course that would be graded. It was all on one page, just like Gon’s mind hyper-focused on Killua being bisexual. 

He thought of those girls several rows ahead of them, chattering away shortly after Killua’s entry.

_Twice the competition_ , Gon thought.

His brain followed up with, “No, I shan’t,” as he exited the lecture hall with Knuckle and Zushi.

“What? What shan’t you do?” Zushi asked. 

Gon put his hands to his cheeks, shaking his head. “Nothing. I’ve just been thinking too much lately.”

In that exact moment, someone burst through the three of them, startling Gon and nearly tripping him out of this existence and into the next. He caught his heart in his chest, gasping, as a guy the size of Mt. Everest latched onto Knuckle with a hearty laugh and said, “Who’s this slick new gal you’ve found?”

“Uvo, meet Gon. Gon, this is Uvogin. We call him Uvo,” Knuckle said. 

Gon’s heart was barely restraining itself. He managed to smile lightly and shake Uvo’s hand, though, as he said, “Nice to meet you. And not a gal—guy, actually.”

“Ah. Sorry about that. My default is always ‘gal’ because men are trash,” Uvo said, and Gon couldn’t contain the laugh that bubbled up. He giggled, completely enamored by Uvo’s stupid, crooked smile and crooked nose. 

“You’re despicable,” Zushi said to Uvo, who put a hand over his heart, offended. His other hand was still slung over Knuckle’s shoulders until Knuckle took a moment to lift it off and set it gently against Uvo’s side.

“I am loveable, dammit,” Uvo said. He put his arm immediately back around Knuckle, who rolled his eyes. Uvo nodded to Gon and said, “Nice to meet you, Gon, but I have to steal this idiot away for practice.”

“Okay—nice meeting you both!” Gon said and followed up with an eager wave. 

Knuckle sighed as he spun after Uvo. He glanced back with a half-hearted wave and said, “See you,” before turning to punch Uvo in the stomach and say, “Were you waiting for me to get out of class, or was that just a coincidence?”

“Just a coincidence—unless…?” Uvo said, and Gon and Zushi snickered at the way Knuckle roared with frustration on their way out of the building. 

As soon as they were gone, Gon turned to Zushi to say, “They seem fun.”

Zushi rolled his eyes. “I’m glad ya like ‘em. They can be kind of unbearable at times.”

The two of them paused, standing just outside of the room. The door was propped open, so they could see the exact moment Killua approached to leave. Gon glanced across the hall where that same group of girls were gathered. He realized then that they were waiting for You Know Who to leave the room, and Gon found himself shocked by the sheer size of Killua’s San Francisco fanbase.

He was just shocked that Killua had a fanbase, if he was being honest.

When Killua exited the room, Gon’s breath caught in his throat the same way Killua’s eyes caught his.  _Don’t look at him, don’t even acknowledge him_ , Gon thought to himself, turning away at the same exact time Killua did, looking more or less perturbed by Gon’s presence there in his class.

Killua left then, eyes on the ground. When he pushed his hand to the exit door, he caught Zushi—that guy who made a point to talk to  _everybody_ in the class—whisper to Gon, “He  _looked at you?_ What the fuck?” 

The instant Killua was outside, he groaned and dragged his hands over his face. Of all of the majors Gon could have been in…

Now wasn’t the time to fuss, though, nor would it ever be. He just had to make it through these first couple months—perhaps sooner—until he had enough money to put down a deposit, break the lease, and move into a new place.

Easy.

Right?

_At least I came to the apartment with a shit ton of my family’s furniture—they won’t even know it’s missing_ , Killua thought as he headed for the nearest bus stop that would take him to work.

As Killua took a bus away from campus, Gon and Zushi hopped onto a bus in the opposite direction. Their next class didn’t start until later that afternoon, and Gon had several items on his shopping list that needed ticking off. 

Gon flipped open his notes on his phone and pointed to the first item on his list. “For one, I need a bed.”

“That would be ideal, I agree,” Zushi said. “So what are you sleeping on now?”

“The floor,” Gon confessed with a grimace. Zushi winced. “ _But_ , I can stand to sleep on the floor for a while longer. That’s not the priority here.”

“It isn’t?”

“No.  _This_ is my priority,” Gon said, pointing to the next item on the list.

The two of them watched as Gon’s phone loaded up a picture of the classiest guitar Gon had ever seen in his entire life. He had been waiting for this moment since he signed his lease  _months_ ago,  _before_ every piece of shit hit the fan. He would leave his old life behind and start a fresh new existence in San Francisco. 

Sure, it would take a bit longer for the strings to wear in and for his hands to grow accustom to it, but  _boy_ , would it feel good to have a guitar again.

Considering what happened to his last acoustic. 

That experience had, however, made him infinitely more grateful for the fact that his electric guitar was still intact. Sure, his acoustic needed an upgrade (he  _had_ had it since middle school) but that didn’t mean it deserved to have its spruce body thrown out a fifth story window.

“Wow,” Zushi marveled, reaching for Gon’s phone. Gon beamed at the way Zushi’s eyes lit up in the glow of the guitar on his phone screen. No one at the community college would have had that look on their faces had he shown them his future guitar. “That’s spunky,” he said. 

Gon laughed. “Out of everything you coulda called it—”

“I mean, it’s super cool! Where are you getting it from?”

“Haight Ashbury,” he confessed, and Zushi promptly squealed with excitement. 

Haight Ashbury was farther west than where Killua’s workplace resided, and so there was no concern of their paths crossing as Killua stepped off of the bus and stood within view of the establishment. The neon lights were off for that afternoon, and the tinted windows at the front were pasted over with posters for music events and festivals. 

The bus pulled away as Killua pocketed his hands in his bomber jacket and managed a small, relieved sigh. The tension lifted, only slightly, but he was certain he’d be back to his usual self once he was behind all of those darkened windows. He wasn’t particularly inclined to be seen on this street by anyone who might recognize his face. 

With the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up, Killua tugged his backpack straps closer and crossed the street. He jogged up to the curb and slid into the alley beside the club where his key slotted into the door next to the dumpster. The brick walls were all damp from the fog that morning and Killua could feel it on his chilled fingers as he pulled on the door handle and slipped inside. The door clicked shut behind him. 

Down the long, dingy hallway, a head popped out of the lockroom door, the curtain swinging aside. Killua recognized that head of blonde hair instantly. 

“Oh, it’s just Killua,” Kurapika said, disappearing once more.

Killua’s blood boiled, fists clenched at his sides. “There’s no  _‘just_ ’ about it! I know you missed me!” he cried, rushing to the room. He ripped the curtain aside only to find that Kurapika hadn’t gone anywhere. Their foreheads collided instantly.

They both yelped, cursing. Killua slapped a hand to his nose and groaned as Kurapika seethed, voice raising with every word, “‘ _Missed you?’_ I’ve just been waiting to  _murder you_ . You were gone all weekend!”

“Well, I’ll be gone longer if you  _murder me!_ ” Killua shouted back. They were screaming before long, and in doing so, prompted the entry of one of the bartenders peeking in to ensure that everything was okay. 

Killua clamped his mouth shut at the sight of Leorio there. Kurapika was still grappling for control over Killua’s hands and arms and shoved his palm right against Killua’s cheek. 

Leorio blinked, glasses slipping. “I heard yelling. Sort of assumed Killua was back.”

“That I am,” Killua muttered, voice muffled by Kurapika’s hand against his cheek. He plucked it off and pushed Kurapika away, who was still rearing for a fight, bouncing on the balls of his feet, fists raised. “And I’m here to  _work_ , not  _duke it out_ . I don’t have time for that anymore.”

“What do you mean? You got the apartment, didn’t you?” Kurapika said, shoulders slumping. 

Leorio leant against the bar door, arms crossed as he shrugged. “He’s gotta pay for more shit now that he’s living on his own, though.”

“I’m not an  _idiot_ —‘course I know that,” Kurapika hissed at him. Killua rolled his eyes and started towards his locker. “I just figured since he spent all summer saving up for rent this semester he might be able to take a break once in a while.”

“Not anymore,” Killua sighed, slinging his backpack off of his shoulders. He avoided their stares as he packed his backpack into his locker. He didn’t see why he had to tell them a goddamn thing. Besides, he knew what they’d do: They’d butt right into the situation. “Leorio’s right. I just need to… get more shit for the apartment. Kitchen supplies, furniture…”

“Well, I can help with that,” Leorio said. “I’ve got all that extra shit at my parents’ place.”

“I have extra kitchen supplies from my last apartment,” Kurapika said. 

“Thanks, but I don’t take handouts,” Killua said, which was true.

Killua loathed the thought of getting help from them. They weren’t technically his coworkers. They weren’t even ‘friends’. Killua wasn’t sure what to call them aside from people he saw nearly every day of the week since his senior year of high school when he scored a spot on Chrollo’s floor. Killua never really felt inclined to spend extra time with either of them, though he and Kurapika had gone out for coffee on several occassions before Kurapika became privy to Killua’s age when he was still in high school. 

“ _I get that you’re almost eighteen, but that won’t change anything for me,_ ” Kurapika had told him. He was fine with that. He didn’t really picture their outings as dates anyway. Kurapika was twenty-three now, after all. A mentor of sorts.

“You’ve helped me enough as it is,” Killua said, ducking his head. He folded his coat over his arm and glanced at Kurapika out of the corner of his eye. “I wouldn’t have saved up nearly as much money had you not taught me how to  _actually_ pole-dance properly.”

“Aw, cute,” Leorio cooed from the door. 

Kurapika and Killua turned on him with a sharp, “Piss off!” and a, “Don’t you have something better to do?!”

Leorio flung his arms up in surrender and spun back around to the bar. He disappeared out of sight, muttering about how  _ungrateful_ they were. Killua ground his teeth together, only to slacken up when Kurapika dropped a hand atop his head and gave his white hair a ruffle under the black-lights in the locker room. He flinched, eyes squeezed shut until Kurapika’s hand lifted. 

“You’ll do fine in your new place,” Kurapika reassured him, and hearing it aloud nearly brought Killua to tears. He worked so hard to even  _get_ an apartment and leave his family behind. All of the stress, the work, the sleepless nights at  _The Phantom_ —they  _weren’t_ all for naught. He really had worked towards something great, and he had something to show for it that he was proud of.

Except for the minor detail of the scam…

He watched from the corner of his eye as Kurapika left the locker room. They had work to do, and Killua was here to make a shit ton of money for the sake of correcting the error in his judgement. He should have known his apartment was too good to be true. 

And, so, Killua locked away his school bag and started after Kurapika out onto the main floor of the club where chairs were flipped upside-down on tabletops and the florescent warehouse lights were flicked on. Chrollo had left out cleaning supplies for them behind the bar, and so he and Kurapika took their share of the brooms and set to work thoroughly sweeping the floor for a solid scrubbing with the mops later. 

He swepped the floors in long, rough streaks towards the pile Kurapika accumulated from the other side of the club. The hum and bubble of the bar sink reached them as they gathered the dirt and grime onto a dust pan. Leorio polished every last cup at the bar so that he could shake out the rubber mats beneath them and wash them down. 

“It’s been a while since we had cleaning duty, huh?” Kurapika commented, and Killua huffed, annoyed and sweaty. 

He brushed a hand through his hair, only to think better of it with a grimace. Even if he participated in the cleaning, touching his face in this setting was just out of the question. “You say that like you were just  _waiting_ for the day you’d be stuck here with me for three-plus hours,” Killua said. 

Kurapika gave him a dull look and said, “I look forward to no such thing.”

“The way you tackled me earlier says otherwi—oh, fuck!” Killua cursed, tripping when Kurapika smacked his shin with the stick of his broom.

Killua swatted at him, wielding his broom with both hands on the stick. He pointed it at Kurapika in warning, as if to say,  _I dare you to come closer_ . Kurapika responded with a twirl of his own broom, spinning it behind him and back around to the front. He stomped his foot down, stance wide, and turned his poised broom onto Killua. 

“Oi, no anime battles in this establishment,” Leorio said. 

“We’ll see about that,” Kurapika said, and Killua leapt away when he took a jab forward. 

He yelped when Kurapika did it again, just to tease Killua until Killua cried, “C-Cut it out! We have work to do! It’s not every day we get paid hourly here, you know!”

“Hourly is  _nothing_ compared to a Friday night on the pole,” Kurapika said, testily, and chased after Killua, who screamed in alarm and fled. “This is merely bribery in exchange for manual labor.”

Killua screamed when Kurapika came at him with the bristles of the broom—as if Killua would let Kurapika touch him with someone that had scraped all crevices of the club floor. 

“For someone living in my spare bedroom…” a familiar, dreadful voice sounded from the loft overhead. 

Kurapika cursed, dropping the broom immediately as Leorio hummed a scandalous, “ _Ooooh_ , now you’ve done it.”

“I literally  _told him_ to cut it out. You heard that part, right?” Killua said, pointing to Kurapika, who sneered. Killua’s pointing diminished into a weak, painful smile.  _If anything, now I just need to watch my back more_ , he thought.

From the loft, Chrollo Lucilfer started down the steps and around to the landing where, poised several feet above the stair railing, mounted a caged pole for Saturday night concerts and raves. There was one on either side of the split staircase. 

“But you admit it’s bribery,” Kurapika remarked, a hand on his hip. 

“I admit that it’s in your rental contract,” Chrollo said, tipping his head to the side. 

Kurapika leant over to Killua and whispered in a sing-song voice, “ _Bribery…_ ”

Killua grinned and said, “As long as I’m in the schedule, I don’t give a shit.” Even from this far, he could see the snicker on Chrollo’s lips before he punctuated it with a cigarette.

_Speaking of the schedule…_ Killua thought, biting his lip. He set his broom aside and started towards the stairs as Chrollo leant against the railing, flicking a lighter over he end of the cig. 

Killua hopped up around the first of the two landings and slowed halfway up the stairs to Chrollo. The warehouse’s vaulted ceilings had a thin strip of windows overhead that highlighted Chrollo’s stubble and the glint on his expensive, gaudy watch. When Chrollo turned to him, disinterested, Killua could see that the state of the owner’s schedule was showing in shadows under his eyes. He smelled like leather varnish and smoke.

“You didn’t have to come in today. We’ve got it handled,” Killua said. 

Chrollo scoffed and glanced down at the floor where Kurapika had gotten back to work, and Leorio was helping drag fresh water out onto the floor in buckets. “Not gonna sleep anyway, so figured, ‘why the fuck not’,” Chrollo sighed. 

“There’s medication for that, you know.”

“I know. And I  _also_ know that I told you not to  _mother_ me,” he said.

Killua grimaced. “Right, sorry.” He understood that Chrollo didn’t want to be treated like a boss. He was more of a landlord, except instead of renting shitty apartments (and scamming people), he rented stage time. “I wanted to talk to you about my schedule.”

“Have you reconsidered?”

At this rate, Killua’s face would be stuck in a permanent grimace. “I have, yes,” he confessed. Whether he wanted to or not, he needed the cash and that meant leeching from regulars who were desperate for more. His moral standards were thinning fast, just like his patience. 

Not only that, but he had been hesitant to perform at concerts. He was one of the better dancers on Chrollo’s docket, but concerts meant more eyes on him. More eyes that might  _know_ him.  _The Phantom_ was a strip club most days, but it doubled as a venue for music events. The chances of those events overlapping with his peers’ lives at university were too great. 

“I’m still thinking about performing at the concerts, but I want to try working more weekend shifts.” Weekends were nearly as tricky as concerts. He didn’t know of many college kids who went to  _strip clubs_ on a  _week day_ , but weekends, on the other hand…

“Took you long enough,” Chrollo huffed. “I’ll open something up for you. I take it you want prime time?”

“Yes, please. If you can,” he said, his moral integrity dwindling. Prime time meant taking away from other dancers during times of the night when tipping was at its peak. He could be taking away those obscene amount of tips from people with kids, medical bills, or  _worse_ . 

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said. 

Relief flushed through Killua like a goddamn train bursting through his chest. At last, his heart could steady. “Thank you,” he breathed, clutching at his shirt. “I’ll just… get back to work now.”

Chrollo said nothing but only watched as Killua hurried back down the steps and onto the main floor of the club. Kurapika was breaking out the mops now and had one ready for Killua. Killua glanced back up at the loft where white smoke curled from Chrollo’s lips as he turned and headed back to the VIP section of the club where he could be found polishing the leather booth seats. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays you nerds! Share your hopes and dreams for this fic with me either here or [on Tumblr](https://killugon-memes.tumblr.com/) where Jerry makes memes out of my fics lol (including this fic) :D


	3. Wouldn't It Be Nice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song for the chapter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nZBKFoeDKJo&list=RDrXs9MXrHxVE&index=7) hehe

Gon’s class let out just before dinnertime, and when he returned to the apartment, he had opened to find the lights on. When he arrived to an empty apartment, though, his hope dampened. He was alone again.

Gon sighed as he balanced his backpack and guitar bag in the foyer. He slipped his shoes off and locked the front door behind him. It was already dark—damn the winter months—and the apartment felt hollow with the street lights streaming in through the blinds. The blue, eerie shadows dissipated the instant Gon flicked on the overhead light. 

He set his backpack on the kitchen table chair. Killua had come with furniture, but it wasn’t enough to fill the sheer size of the apartment. 

_We’ll need to go shopping_ , Gon thought as he went to his room. There was a sleeping bag on the ground from the night before, and Gon crawled on top of it, laid his guitar on the ground next to him, and hugged the neck of it for as long as it took for him to fall asleep—mostly by accident, of course.

He slept through what would have been dinner and didn’t wake until a key turned in the front door. He startled to attention with a gasp, shoving himself up from the sleeping bag and twisting around to the open bedroom door. The living room lights were still on, and so he saw the moment Killua walked in, sluggish and tired, at midnight. 

“Welcome home,” Gon chimed, albeit hoarse with sleep, from his room. 

Killua jerked with a start, eyes wide. Oh, right, he had a roommate. His shoulders slumped with a low curse, shoving his backpack onto the ground beside the table. He put his hands over his face and groaned, “Don’t— _scare_ me like that, Christ.”

“Sorry,” Gon said, hushed and guilty. He left his room and realized instantly that his stomach hurt so much because he was painfully hungry. He clutched at his stomach and sighed. “Are you hungry at all?” he asked.

“Starving,” Killua confessed, and Gon brightened instantly. 

“We should order something! I haven’t had dinner yet,” he said. He reached for the refrigerator door handle, and as he did, Killua peered around him to see the very empty refrigerator. “And we haven’t gone grocery shopping yet. Aye, yai yai, that’s gonna be expensive…”

“Don’t remind me,” Killua groaned, rolling his eyes away from the horror scene. He slumped against the kitchen table and reached for his phone. “I’d be down for pizza.”

“Domino’s?” Gon suggested, and Killua agreed. 

As they waited for the pizza to arrive, the atmosphere of the apartment diminished to nothing more than a sense of awkward tension. Gon wanted to go back to his room, but Killua stayed out at the kitchen table. Perhaps they needed to talk things over? They  _did_ need to go shopping…

“Hey, Killua,” Gon started, perched at the head of the table. Killua looked up from his phone. Gon’s heart leapt into his throat at the look of murder in Killua’s icy blue eyes. He swallowed hard, ignoring every visual he had of theory class that day. “I’m thinking maybe… this weekend we could go shopping? Maybe get a futon or something…”

“I’m not going shopping with you,” Killua deadpanned, and Gon’s hopes and dreams plummeted. “Just pick something out and we’ll go halfsies. I don’t care.”

“Really?” Gon huffed. “But going to Ikea together would be so much  _fun_ .”

“Not a chance.”

“Why not?”

Killua sighed as he set his phone on the table, hooked an arm over the back of his chair, and said, “I just don’t want to be seen in public with you, alright? We don’t know each other and I’m not comfortable with it.”

All of the dismal energy in the pit of Gon’s hungry stomach flared up then out of sheer anger. He crossed his arms and turned away with a scowl, seething, “I don’t get it—you’ve got such an attitude. I don’t see why half of our class is head over heels for you.”

He didn’t miss the way Killua’s mouth fell open then, or how he blinked dumbly at Gon for several silent seconds. He cleared his throat, shifted uncomfortably, and said with a low, nervous grin, “Yeah right. I don’t know where you heard that, but it isn’t true.”

Killua wasn’t dumb, though. He preferred to play dumb and blamed it on his training with Kurapika when it came to talking to customers. Play dumb, and only act like you know what’s happening if it’s for the benefit of getting a client flustered. Killua wasn’t looking to call people out on their bullshit—he  _knew_ when his peers were checking him out—but he wasn’t about to start  _that_ conversation. 

Someone once asked him out to a house party last semester. Killua had meant to play dumb, but instead said, “ _I don’t know what that means_ ,” and left. 

He tended to play Too Dumb too often.

Gon floundered before erupting with an explosive, “You’ve got a whole fanclub! Are you seriously telling me you didn’t notice when everyone was looking at you in theory today?”

Killua’s eye twitched. He was still hung up on the fact that Gon talked about  _him_ with their classmates. “There’s a reason I sit at the back of the class,” Killua hissed. “And you talked to your ‘ _friends_ ’ about me?”

“I didn’t bring it up!  _They_ brought it up, and they also mentioned that you’re…” The rest dissolved into a sheepish mutter. Gon’s ears turned pink.

“I’m  _what?_ ”

“ _Bi_ ,” Gon hissed.

Killua couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Sometimes he wondered why he was bisexual. It wasn’t  _his_ fault that he was attracted to the worst gender in existence (men) but there he was, batting for both teams. 

He also dreaded the fact that the class knew this about him and it was all because of the first week of fall semester when a guy asked him out and followed up with, “ _But if you aren’t gay, then I’m fine being friends_ ,” and Killua responded, “ _That isn’t the issue—I swing both ways, just not your way_ .”

And now everyone in the music theory major knew he was bisexual.

Great.

“Is that why you’re nervous rooming with me?” Gon asked, ducking his head. “Because people might talk?”

“That’s not a concern,” he said, standing and grabbing his phone from the table. He pushed away as Gon watched him leave. “Because I’m not—nor will I ever be—interested in you.”

Gon’s jaw dropped to his lap. He wanted to tackle Killua to the ground right then and there, but instead, he just sat there, dumbfounded, sitting on the only piece of furniture in the shared living space of their apartment. 

Killua leaned out of his bedroom door and said, “Tell me when the pizza gets here,” before shutting the door. 

Gon clenched his hands into fists on top of the table. He gave them a good, solid  _slam_ before shoving to his feet. He glared in the direction of Killua’s closed bedroom door before grabbing his backpack and marching to his own room.  _Two_ could play at  _this_ game.

* * *

Prior to their first class, Gon visited the coffee shop down the road and, by complete coincidence, bumped into Killua there as well. Gon’s trip to the coffee shop was swifter—what with his car to help transport him—and so he hadn’t realized that Killua left the apartment an hour earlier to sip his mocha in peace. Killua’s bedroom door was shut, so Gon merely assumed that Killua was sleeping in and that they didn’t, in fact, have their first Tuesday class together.

And, so, when Gon waltzed down the sidewalk to the coffee shop just down the road, he was more than surprised by the sight of Killua sitting at the countertop along the street-side windows, a travel mug to his lips. 

Killua looked up from his computer and his eyes stilled on Gon, who froze mid-step, eyes wide and stuck on Killua through the glass store front. 

Gon pointed to him, as if to say, “ _Aha! Cryptid spotted!_ ”

Killua turned away, nose in the air, and cup to his lips as if to say, “ _You dare look at me, peasant?_ ”

Gon’s hand swung to his side, scoffing under his breath. He glared at Killua one last time before making his way to the door. He pushed inside and climbed the short set of stairs to the main floor of that narrow, small coffee shop where he and Killua had first seen each other. 

The coffee shop was rustic with stained wood countertops and cabinets and iron-framed stools and chairs. Gon passed by the pastry glass and tried his best to  _ignore_ the Smoking Hot Piece Of Ass sitting at the front window (Killua Zoldyck). It was an immensely difficult task, one that Gon’s self-control could be proud of. 

But hot damn, Gon’s brain was splitting in two directions—one towards the cash register, and the other hyper-aware of Killua sitting at the window. Gon pinched his fingers to his bottom lip where he took to worrying it between his teeth. This was too much for one gay boy to handle, truly. A coffee shop? It was the ultimate Meet Cute location! Prime Partner-Searching Territory. 

“Sir?” the cashier said, head tipped to the side.

Gon blinked, startled. “Oh, sorry. I’ll get a matcha latte, please.”

She tapped Gon’s order into the computer and, after paying, set to work on his drink. Gon caught himself glancing at the back of Killua’s head and only did so when the barista leant over and said, “Cute, huh?”

“Excuse me?” Gon squeaked, alarmed. 

The barista gestured to Killua and rose her eyebrows at Gon. “That one over there.”

Gon wanted to shrivel up and die. 

“Oh, no, I was just, um… looking at the decorations,” Gon said, putting his eyes back to the vaulted ceiling where old barn wooden planks lined the walls. 

“Uh-huh, sure hun,” she said. 

Gon laughed and went to the counter alongside the espresso machine. He leant his forearms against it and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Biscuit,” she said with a bright smile that made her look like an absolute doll with her round cheeks. “But everyone just calls me Bisky.”

Gon gave a soft nod, still smiling wide. “Well, Bisky, nice to meet you. I imagine you’ll be seeing a lot more of me here.”

“And why’s that? You move in near here?”

“Yeah, actually. Just down the street,” Gon said. 

They engaged in small talk until the exact moment Gon heard Killua shut his laptop. Bisky slid over a cup of green tea to Gon, who took it with one hand as his eyes followed Killua’s exit from the coffee shop. The instant Killua was gone, walking past the glass store front, Bisky snapped her fingers in Gon’s face.

“Just ask the fella out,” she hissed at him.

Gon startled, alarmed, and waved his hand with a dismissive, awkward laugh. “Oh, no, it’s not like that. Really!”

“It never hurt anyone to try.”

“No, I’m… pretty sure it has,” Gon argued. “You’d be surprised by what’s emotionally damaging.”

She snapped her fingers again, this time, directly in front of Gon’s nose. He leant back to avoid getting hit. “That isn’t the attitude I’m looking for, mister. Seize the opportunity, dammit.”

Gon laughed again, smiling wide. “I shouldn’t. We’re, uh—”  _She’s a barista, not a student!_ “—we’re actually roommates. Random roommates, so we don’t know each other very well yet.”

Bisky put a hand on her hip and hummed in understanding, peering at Gon from down her nose with a devilish glint in her narrowed eyes. “Ah, I see how it is…” she sang, her pursed lips spreading into a wide smile. “You are in a perfect position, Gon.”

She read his name off of the cup in his hands. Gon glanced at it and laughed, saying, “Uh, yeah, I don’t think so. We aren’t exactly roommates by  _choice_ .”

“By fate then?” Bisky suggested, leaning an elbow to the counter. 

“Not likely,” he giggled. He raised the tea up and said, “Have a nice day, Bisky.”

“You as well,” she said with a lovesick sigh. Gon smiled as he left the coffee shop, fully aware that Bisky had her eyes on him as he crossed in front of the coffee shop window on his way to his car. 

That café experience was practice, though, for when Gon actually saw Killua in class that day. It was easier for him to ignore Killua after the café incident, and he succeeded in keeping his eyes to himself until class ended and he was lulled into Zushi’s affectionate attention as the guy said, “I’d love to see your apartment.”

Knuckle pitched in instantly. “Yeah, it must be nice having a whole-ass apartment.”

Gon smiled, sheepishly, and couldn’t quite say anything on the matter without fearing he’d let Killua’s name slip. Instead, he did something far worse. 

“So do you have a roommate?” Zushi asked.

Gon’s immediate response, knowing that Killua would shit a brick if he gave away the roommate situation, went as follows: “No. I just… have a one bedroom apartment.”

Zushi threw his arms up with a triumphant laugh. “That’s perfect! We could hang out at your place!”

_Shit_ .

“As much as I’d  _love_ to show you guys my apartment… it’s just… a  _real_ mess right now,” Gon said, the guilt seeping into every word that escaped his mouth. And here he thought he’d have the Socializing Hot Spot of  _all_ of the dorms and apartments alike. 

That was no longer the case, so long as he wanted to stay on Killua’s Good Side (not that the guy  _had_ many good sides—aside from looks, that is).

Zushi slumped with a groan and muttered, “ _Fine_ , I _guess_ that makes sense.”

“Well, if you guys ever wanna stop by my dorm, I’m in the athlete hall,” Knuckle said, shouldering his backpack as the three of them lingered in the lecture hall. 

Gon tipped his head to the side, scratching at his hair. “Athlete hall?”

“Oh, yeah! Hatsu Hall—student athletes get priority in that dorm,” Zushi explained. He clapped his hands together, smiling wide. “Best facility on campus! They’ve got  _huge_ rooms and heat in the winter.”

Knuckle put his thumbs up and Gon squinted at them both. “So… not all of the dorms get heat in the winter?”

“Oh, we do—it’s just…  _drafty_ ,” Zushi explained. He pointed to Knuckle and added, “His dorm’s pretty rad. Single dorm for a single man.”

“And ready to  _mingle_ , as the kids say,” Knuckle said with a shimmy of his shoulders. Zushi gave him a smack on the arm and as the two of them bickered, Gon caught sight of Killua passing their group on his way out of the lecture hall.

Gon stared after him. Killua was wearing a scarf that day, and the plaid, tasseled ends ruffled behind him as one of the guys in their class held the door for him. Killua didn’t acknowledge the guy, but the guy surely acknowledged him—after the fact, when one of his friends leant in to whisper something about Killua when he was gone.

“Killua’s pretty popular, huh?” Gon commented. He glanced back at Knuckle and Zushi, who ceased their banter the instant Killua’s name was mentioned.

Zushi put both hands out, gasping. “Did I miss it? Oh, fuck, I missed it.”

Gon’s heart stopped. “Missed what?” 

Knuckle thumped him on the chest and said, “Killua’s  _ass_ , bro. We keep our eyes and ears  _peeled_ for that shit.”

Gon’s heart dropped. Right, duh, of  _course_ it wasn’t anything important. He threw his head back and groaned in annoyance as Zushi crumpled in defeat. “My streak—!” Zushi cried, dramatic and falling to his knees. He dropped his fists onto the back of the seat ahead of them, eyes down until the exact moment he threw his head back and sobbed, “ _Why—?!_ ”

“It—! It’s not that important, is it?!” Gon cried, but something in his brain—he knew  _exactly_ what part of his brain—told him that it  _was_ important.

“A travesty,” Knuckle said with a firm nod, eyes closed, solemn. 

“It isn’t!” Gon exclaimed, and Zushi emphasized his disappointment by banging his fist against the seat again, head down against his forearm. He groaned and stepped over Zushi’s legs as he headed for the stairs. “Well, on  _that_ note… I’m heading home. New guitar and all that, so…”

Zushi put a hand to his heart, leaning back once more to reach out to Gon and say, “Tell her I love her.”

“My… guitar?” Gon said, raising an eyebrow. Zushi nodded, brushing away fake, nonexistent tears. “My guitar’s a guy, dude. His name’s Melvin.”

Knuckle blinked, startled, and leaned in for clarity. “You… named a guitar  _Melvin?_ ”

Gon folded his arms, pouting. Melvin held a lot of memories for him—specifically, every memory that shattered on the pavement at the community college. “Okay, well,  _Melvin 2.0_ ,” he clarified. 

“Aw, that’s cute,” Zushi said.

“Is that sarcasm? I can’t tell,” Gon pouted, shoulders bunched up. 

Knuckle gave Gon a firm clap on the shoulder and followed up with a reassuring shake. “Well, give Melvin 2.0 my best. I’ll see ya later, dude.”

And then, the most glorious thing happened. Knuckle put out a hand to Gon, and Gon had seen it everyone other than extended  _to him_ . He stared at Knuckle’s hand for a moment, completely in shock.  _A bro shake_ , he thought, hands shaking with excitement.

He pulled a hand out from where he had them folded tightly to his chest. He clasped on to Knuckle’s firm grip, their thumbs hooked together. If it was possible for Gon to feel lightheaded from how happy he was, then he certainly experienced it when their shoulders touched and the bro-hug released.

Gon continued to stare at his hand as he left the classroom. He stared at it all the way out of the building, down the street, and to the parking ramp where his car was. He clenched his fingers into a fist and, leaping into the parking ramp, thrust it to the air. 

“ _FUCK YEAH!_ ” he screamed, kicking his feet out like a leprechaun. He laughed, twirling, and spinning off of the curb and across the asphalt. At the trunk of his car, he braced both feet on the ground and threw both fists down in front of him, all but foaming at the mouth with unadulterated joy. 

“I’m a  _bro now_ ,” he seethed.

Just as he rose both fists up, eyes heading to the sky, he stopped, stilled, half-crouched like a gremlin in the middle of that godforsaken parking lot where he caught sight of a familiar, white-haired guy staring at him from the far end of the aisle. 

Gon froze.

Killua stared, for a moment, before shaking his head and turning away to pretend he hadn’t seen a thing. 

Killua scratched his finger to his temple, scoffing a little under his breath. He was far enough away that Gon could only hear his boots receeding as he wandered up the ramp to the top floor. He circled around the second story ramp and, at the third, saw the sky stretched over the ramp exit. He made this trek too many times for his thighs to ache anymore from the walk—but then again, he could possibly blame that on his training at  _The Phantom_ . 

Killua walked to the back of the parking structure where, against the cement hedge circumnavigating the structure, he found Kurapika leaning against it. He slowed upon approaching the car, watching Kurapika from over the hood. As Kurapika took a slow drag of his cigarette, Killua crossed his arms and glanced back at the ramp to ensure no one was watching them. Few students flocked to the third floor of this parking structure, and if they did, it was because they commuted and were bound to stay on campus until the wee hours of the night.

Kurapika put his head back, a hand on his black sunhat that made him look more and more like a vampire, what with that black pea coat and sunglasses. He blew smoke into the air, dramatically, and Killua sighed. 

“You done?” Killua said. 

Kurapika put a finger up. Killua rolled his eyes and tapped his foot impatiently. Sirens were going off on the other side of their neighborhood and Killua could hear it on the wind as it whistled through, smelling damp with seawater. 

“I swear you didn’t smoke before you moved in with that rat bastard,” Killua said. 

Kurapika pinched the frame of his sunglasses and looked squarely at Killua. “Does it make me look badass though.”

“It would if you didn’t look like a fashion designer from New York with those stupid leather gloves,” Killua said. 

Kurapika frowned, inspecting his gloves as Killua rolled his eyes and stepped over. He plucked the cigarette out of Kurapika’s hands. He held it up, where Kurapika could see it and Killua’s raised eyebrows in the same frame, before stamping it out on the cement ledge. He snapped his fingers in the direction of the car and said, “Let’s fucking go, dude.”

Kurapika rose both hands in surrender, looking like Killua was being oh-so difficult. Killua rolled his eyes and wandered back to the passenger door. It was one thing to have to deal with cigarette smoke at  _The Phantom_ , but having to smell it in Kurapika’s car every damn day was another story. 

Unbeknownst to him, however, shortly after Killua turned away from Gon’s victory dance, Gon was passed up by a group of people he vaguely recognized from their lecture hall corridors. He certainly didn’t recognize them from class, but it was hard to forget certain faces in the music theory hallways. 

Students at their university were more inclined to “express themselves”, as Boomers would say, which made it difficult for Gon to ignore the vibrant hair, the colorfully-printed clothes, or the Yeezy’s that were paid for by wealthy parents. 

And, so, as Gon recovered his aching heart from the floor of that cement parking structure, his eyes followed the group of students whispering under their breaths and sneaking up along the ramp. When they caught Gon staring, some girls yelped and scattered as the others hissed, “Keep it together!”

“No—we shouldn’t!”

“It’ll just be for a second! If he catches us we can just pretend to be getting in a car and leaving,” one of them said, and Gon rose his eyebrow at them as he pried open the driver’s door to his car. 

And, so, the small quarter of the group that decided to trudge onwards, continued up the ramp following Killua’s tracks like a bunch of bloodhounds. Gon ignored them and went about his day because  _Killua wouldn’t want him interfering, right?_ So yes, he’d ignore them, and pretend he saw nothing.

Those three students snuck up the ramp and, upon catching a glimpse of Killua’s snow-white hair beside a black car, the student at the front of the group skidded to a halt. She was compact, spunky, and, due to her affinity for black clothes and black snapbacks, made for an excellent spy—and her name was Retz.

Retz’ eyes widened at the sight of the back of Killua’s head. “Shit,” she hissed, turning to her friends. She waved them all back, and the three of them skidded, frantic to get out of the way. The three of them ducked behind a nearby car where they disappeared from view until the exact moment Retz popped her head up from behind the trunk, and her other two friends appeared, eyes wide, over the hood of the random vehicle. 

From this vantage point, they watched, stunned and amazed, at the sight of Killua  _speaking with a human being_ .

It was the discovery of the century—or rather, the semester, because as far as anyone knew, Killua Zoldyck didn’t associate with mere mortals. 

Retz looked across the car to her friends, who looked back, shocked. She mouthed to them, “ _Who is that?_ ” in reference to the person with Killua wearing the black hat and long blonde hair. From this far away, they simply looked like an androgynous goddess. 

Her friends shrugged, so Retz pulled up the camera on her phone and whispered, “Well, if I don’t know, maybe someone else  _will_ .” When she held her phone up and zoomed in, she just managed to capture the shot of Killua plucking the cigarette from the person’s lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to name all of the chapters after funky songs so if yall have a fav, pre-2000s song, hmu


	4. Boys Just Want To Have Fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The bop for this chapter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gvLMhpzYic0&list=RDjtsHy6KMtsA&index=22) :D

**T** hat night after working, Killua tucked his hair into a baseball cap and waited at the back door of the club for his Uber to swing around and fetch him. Beside him, Kurapika just remembered his earrings and stood alongside him, plucking them off with one too many sighs. 

“What,” Killua huffed.

“Nothing.”

“What are you waiting for then?”

“Oh, just for you to ask for a ride,” Kurapika said. 

Killua rolled his eyes. “I’m not  _asking_ for a ride when I’ve already ordered an Uber.”

“Just let me drive you to your apartment.”

“So you can know where I live? No thank you,” Killua said, but more accurately, he didn’t want Kurapika to find out what his apartment number was. His flat had a window on the street and Kurapika would no doubt wait for him to turn on his light. In doing so, it inadvertently gave Kurapika permission to hunt his apartment down via sneaking in through the locked front door behind another tenant. 

It wasn’t that Kurapika  _knowing_ about his roommate situation bothered him—it certainly wasn’t that. It was simply a matter of knowing that Kurapika was in the market for an apartment of his own, and there was only so much Killua knew he could deal with. Kurapika’s unresolved sexual tension with the club owner was one of them, and Killua hoped he’d sort it out after living with the guy. Maybe being roommates would stamp out Kurapika’s horniness for the guy. 

_I’m glad I don’t have to worry about that_ , Killua thought with a slight grimace, thinking about his own roommate. Sure, Gon was cute, but…

“I don’t see why I can’t bum at your place once in a while,” Kurapika sighed once again, dramatic and annoyed. 

“I’ve— _literally_ only been moved in for three days.”

“Three days I coulda been bumming at yours.”

Killua rolled his eyes. His mind was spiraling around Freecss, though, and his need to scream about it mounted with each passing minute of the day. An entire two-and-a-half days had gone by in silence, and it was all he could do to keep from ripping his hair out from the immense, unfathomable frustration of having been duped on his first lease  _ever_ .

“You…  _can’t_ bum at mine,” Killua huffed, brow tense. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because… I…”

His phone pinged—his driver was here.

_Oh, thank God_ , he thought, mortified. There was no way for Kurapika to know where he lived (unless Kurapika  _stalked_ him), and so there was no way that Kurapika would appear unannounced and out his employment status to Freecss. He imagined a scenario in which Kurapika showed up, unannounced, and Gon was forced to hide in the bedroom while Kurapika yodeled in the kitchen about a client of theirs, and Killua would have to sit there  _knowing_ that Gon was listening to every fucking word—

_No, stop thinking about it_ , Killua thought, stuffing his phone into his pocket. 

“Well, I’m leaving,” he declared.

“Wait, no, what were you gonna say, you whore,” Kurapika demanded, trying to grab Killua by the jacket. Killua wrestled out of Kurapika’s grasp, slamming his shoulder into the door and heaving it open. He took off at a half-sprint as Kurapika followed him out. The only thing Kurapika was waiting for in there was Killua, anyway. 

Kurapika harrassed him all the way to the Uber out on the street, who looked alarmed as Killua swung open the door, being fully attacked and kicked by Kurapika. He asked his driver for his name, and when the two matched up, Killua slid in with a sigh and went to close the door. 

Kurapika’s face got smushed in the door, and with his cheeks pushed in, Kurapika seethed, “I’m your  _best friend—_ I deserve to know where you live _—_ ”

“The fuck? Those two things have no correlation whatsoever,” Killua insisted, giving the door another tug. Kurapika cursed, voice muffled from his squished cheeks.

Killua pushed the door out, just enough for Kurapika to yank his face free, before slamming the door once and for all. He flipped Kurapika off through the window, and Kurapika stuck his tongue out, rubbing feeling back into his cheeks with his two gloved hands. 

Whatever the case, Killua decided that he needed to prepare for the day that Kurapika would inevitably follow him home. He opened up the notes on his phone and started typing away.

And, when he came home, he copied those notes onto a piece of note paper, which he then brought to the kitchen where Gon was opening the mostly-empty fridge. Killua reached in front of them, grabbed one of those stupid magnets that looked like cat butts, and pinned the paper to the fridge with it. 

He gave it a little smack as Gon stared at it, and then stared at him. “Apartment rules,” Killua said.

Killua walked off to the bathroom. He could still feel the mascara on his lashes from work, so he reached for a cotton ball and doused it with makeup remover. He set to work rubbing it off, his eyes on his reflection through the mirror.

Meanwhile, Gon plucked the rules right off of the fridge and studied them with a furrowed brow, and annoyance sinking like acid into his gut. He blamed the Taurus in him for being a stubborn fool, thinking he and Killua could just “ _co-exist_ ”, whatever that meant, without having to question each other. Rationally, he knew apartment rules made sense.

But  _irrationally_ , however…

“‘One: No food-sharing,’” Gon started, slowly. He looked at the pudding cup in his hand and dejectedly returned it to the fridge. “‘Two: Killua reserves primary bathroom access after midnight…’” Gon glanced at the clock. It was nearly one in the morning. “‘Make sure you’re finished with the bathroom before then. Three: Clean what you contributed to—this includes cleaning the bathroom by turn, cleaning your own dishes, and cleaning the kitchen after cooking. Four: Don’t go into each others’ rooms.’”

Gon’s brain was stuck on the no-food-sharing rule. He wandered over to the bathroom where Killua’s cheeks were smeared black. He was quick to shut the door before Gon could peer in, and through the crack, Gon said, “I think it’d be useful to share, like… foods we both eat but don’t need much of.”

“Such as…?”

“I don’t know. Butter? Spices? Eggs and milk?”

Killua splashed water over his face and considered this. He supposed he didn’t  _want_ to start completely from scratch… and it’d just take up more room in the cabinets and fridge if they both had milk cartons, egg cartons, butter, and spices as duplicates. 

“Okay, fine,” Killua said, smearing mascara from his cheeks. He spat water out into the sink and reached for one of his black hand towels, which he found rumpled on top of the shelving unit above the toilet. He often folded it up. 

He opened the bathroom door, and Gon startled. He held the towel up, and Gon startled again. “Don’t use this towel, or any of the other black ones.”

“O-Okay, I won’t,” Gon said. “We could use one of my towels as a handtowel or something—”

“No. I mean,  _you_ can, I’m just particular about what I share,” Killua said, and mentally followed up with,  _Mostly because_ I _don’t even know where my hands have been, especially after work_ .

“Okay, that’s fine with me,” Gon said, wide, doe eyes flitting between Killua’s. Killua looked away, jaw tight, and threw the cotton swab into the bin. “Could I add something to the list?”

“Sure.”

“No shoes outside of the foyer?”

Killua paused. He looked down at his feet, realizing then just how shit he was with unlacing his combat boots. When he looked up, Gon offered a weak, apologetic smile and said, “Sorry. Just—something I grew up with.”

Killua left the restroom and went to the foyer where he sat on the steps that led down to the door. He started unlacing his boots and, meanwhile, Gon went back to the kitchen, thinking to himself,  _I JUST MADE HIM SO MAD DIDN’T I? I SHOULDN’T HAVE SAID ANYTHING_ .

Gon came to the apartment with few items, but one of them happened to be a kettle for tea. And, since he couldn’t eat the pudding cup, he set the water boiling and stood waiting for it as Killua returned to the living space, shoes in one hand as he headed for his bedroom. 

Gon crossed his arms, tension easing from his shoulders. They did it. They got over the Rules Talk. 

That peace only lasted for a few seconds before Killua paused at his bedroom door, turned, and said, “Oh, also—”

Gon glanced at him. Killua leant out of his door, hip cocked, and said, “No boys allowed, got it?”

_No boys?_ Gon thought.  _Why boys specifically?_

Gon put a hand to his heated cheek, wondering,  _Do I really exude that much gay energy?_ He was almost flattered, until he realized that Killua was back in his room ignoring the fact that he was essentially policing Gon’s nonexistent lovelife.

“That—! But—!” Gon started, indignant.

“If anyone comes over, they’re gonna know we’ve got a roommate, even if one of us isn’t home,” Killua explained, stepping back into the room. He grabbed the rules from Gon’s hand and pinned them back onto the fridge. He punctuated it with a simple, “And no girls, either.”

The instant Killua turned away, Gon’s jaw dropped. He clamped it shut, mouth twisted into a line as thin as his patience. Once Killua disappeared into the bathroom again, Gon took to his room, fists clenched at his sides, the kettle still boiling behind him. 

* * *

A gentle, light chord reverberated through the wooden body of Melvin 2.0. Gon gave the strings another experimental strum before his fingers fell along each string and began to pluck a sequence of notes to his heart’s content. He closed his eyes and smiled up at the sun now that the morning fog was gone. 

“This is the dream,” Zushi hummed beside Gon, reclined back against his hands, his feet spread out in front of him in the park grass. “Sing a song for me, O Great One.”

Gon struck a chord, and Zushi clapped a little. He followed up with a saucy little rift, one that Zushi deemed “crispy.” Gon rose an eyebrow at him and winked. 

“‘ _As the semester begins… I… go out on a limb_ ,’” Gon said, which Zushi replied to with, “Doesn’t rhyme, but alright.”

“‘ _It doesn’t have to rhyme, dear friend of mi-hi-hine_ ,’” Gon sang, bitching his voice higher, and Zushi whistled with a satisfied shake of his head. 

“This is it. My favorite bop,” Zushi said. 

“‘ _—and I deci-hi-hide—! That this ass deserves better’—_ or rather this back deserves better _—‘than to lie… day by day… on a floor that has less pad-ding than a Christmas sweater—!’_ ” 

He concluded with a fantastical assortment of notes and at last ended with some dramatic, obnoxious strumming. He clapped his hand onto Melvin 2.0’s hollow body and sighed, looking out at the park. 

“I need a mattress,” Gon sighed. He drummed his fingers on the wood and glanced over at Zushi, who studied him for a long, silent moment, mouth ajar.

Zushi gave a little shake of his head before slapping a hand over his short, buzzed hair and saying, “Wait—you don’t have a  _bed_ , bro?”

Gon rolled his eyes. “ _No_ , I don’t have a  _bed_ , ‘bro’. My car’s too small to fit a whole-ass bed!”

“Dude, then what’ve you been sleeping on?”

“A sleeping bag?”

“You know you can, like,  _buy_ mattresses online, right?” Zushi said, and when Gon stared at him, Zushi straightened and leant towards him. And here, Gon thought he’d have to go to a mattress store and lie where everyone else lied on. And then, he’d either have to pay extra to have  _them_ transport it, or Gon would have to strap it to the roof of his car. “They come in a small box and then they sort of inflate.”

“You’re kidding,” Gon said.

“ _Or_ ,” Zushi went on, gesturing vaguely with his hand, “we go on an adventure to a mattress store and I help hold the fort down—or, rather,  _mattress_ down—on the drive to your place.”

Gon opened his mouth, holding back a smile because  _shit_ , that sounded like  _fun_ to him. One of his favorite endeavors in high school involved spontaneous, ridiculous, impulsive trips, and buying a mattress seemed like one of them. 

But then, he remembered Killua’s rule.  _No boys allowed_ . Zushi would have to help him lug the mattress up. 

Gon clamped his mouth shut and pouted his lips, turning away. He tapped a finger to his chin and hummed for a moment, eyes squinting as he narrowed his focus in on mattress shopping with Zushi. Beside him, Zushi leant over to see Gon’s face.

Amidst the rules he and Killua set up, that morning Gon had asked that Killua let him know what days he’d be coming home late. It didn’t help that Killua said, “ _Every night,_ ” and left. He had to assume that Killua wasn’t exaggerating. 

“I, um… I think it’d be a lot of fun. To go mattress shopping with you,” Gon confessed, and while it wasn’t a set plan, he was still convincing himself that there was no way in Hell Killua would march into the apartment while Zushi helped him drag a mattress into the apartment.

Zushi’s lips spread into a wide, cheeky smile. Gon grinned despite himself, looking down at his guitar as Zushi said, “Aw, cute. It’s like we’re a married couple or something.”

“Fuck off,” Gon laughed, shoving him in the arm. 

* * *

**Nuktuk Hero of the South** _added you as a friend!_

**Zushi Roll** _added_ **Freakss** _to the group chat!_

**Nuktuk Hero of the South** _renamed the group chat to_ **_Suacy Sexy Lads_ **

11:23  **NUKTUK:** Yo this is Knuckle

11:24  **FREAKSS:** Dude cool username

11:24  **ZUSHI:** Saucy Sexy Lads? Really, Knuckle?

11:24  **NUKTUK:** Yes really

11:24  **NUKTUK:** Also thanks, I’m glad SOMEONE appreciates my username

11:25  **ZUSHI:** What even is your username

11:25  **ZUSHI:** I changed it to Bitch-Ass Hoe last semester

11:25  **NUKTUK:** yoU DID NOT

11:25  **ZUSHI:** DID TO

11:26  **NUKTUK:** ZUSHI NO, MY HONOR

11:27  **ZUSHI:** MUAHAHA, SUCKER

11:27  **FREAKSS:** Zushi

11:27  **ZUSHI:** Yes, my dear sweet boy

11:27  **FREAKSS:** The reason we made this group chat

11:27  **ZUSHI:** Oh, yes, the reason we made this group chat

11:27  **ZUSHI:** We’re going mattress shopping you wanna come with us

11:28  **NUKTUK:** Why is this formatted as a statement

11:28  **ZUSHI:** Because you do, in fact, want to come with us

11:28  **NUKTUK:** I mean, you’re not wrong

11:28  **NUKTUK:** Can I bring a friend

11:28  **ZUSHI:** This aint cash cab fool

11:28  **FREAKSS:** Of course you can bring a friend :D 

11:29  **FREAKSS:** We’re taking my car

11:29  **NUKTUK:** Perfect

11:29  **NUKTUK:** Where are you guys? We’ll be over in a JIFFY, as my grandma would say

11:29  **ZUSHI:** Nuh uh uh who are you inviting

11:30  **NUKTUK:** none of your BEES WAX, WHORE

11:30  **FREAKSS:** We’re in front of Zetsu Hall :D

11:30  **ZUSHI:** GON

11:30  **FREAKSS:** WHAT

11:30  **NUKTUK:** Excellent

11:31  **ZUSHI:** WHO DID YOU INVITE !!!

11:31  **NUKTUK:** NEVER!!

11:31  **ZUSHI:** THAT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE

11:33  **ZUSHI:** JUST TELL ME

11:35  **ZUSHI:** KNUCKLE !!!

11:38  **Nuktuk Hero of the South** invited  **Gin and Uvonic** to  **Saucy Sexy Lads** !

11:38  **ZUSHI:** NOOOOOOOOO

11:38  **FREAKSS:** Zushi’s screaming irl rn lol

11:39  **GIN:** Sup ladies

11:39  **ZUSHI:** Imma bouta burst into flames

11:39  **GIN:** O, did you step too close to a church?

11:40  **ZUSHI:** Why you little…

11:41  **NUKTUK:** Incoming!

* * *

“It’s so  _hard_ .”

“Oh, fuck, do you think it’s too big?”

“I don’t—”

“Is it too much for you to handle?”

“Can we leave? Like, before someone hears you two?”

Knuckle and Uvogin were lying side-by-side on a queen-sized bed while Gon tested the density of a neighboring double-sized bed. Gon looked up at them, snickering, as Uvogin wiggled around on the bed, flopping like a beached fish. Beside him, Knuckle dissolved into a wiggly puddle next to him, rocking to each flop Uvogin made.

Zushi groaned, a hand on his hip, and the other on the foot of the queen-sized bed as a retail worker came through the aisle and asked if they needed anything. Zushi pointed to Uvogin and said, “Yes, I’d like to have this man ejected into space.”

Gon looked from the worker and Zushi to Knuckle, who’s eyes were stuck on the ceiling as he mumbled, “ _[D](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d6ZAjBayzyA)oes the pain weigh out the pri—ice… and you look for a place to hi—ide…_ ” Gon wished he had his electric guitar, but instead all he had was his acoustic guitar, so he spun it around, unzipped the case as it sat in his lap, and waited until the retail worker left the scene. 

Gon slung the case against his back and pulled up one knee to the mattress. He brandished a clip which he used to pinch the fifth fret. And then, he readied his fingers on the strings. At the end of the bed, Zushi looked like he wanted to run, his eyes frantic and searching for the retail workers that would surely shoot them for loitering.

Gon raised a hand, his eyes on Zushi.

“Don’t—!” Zushi hissed.

He struck his hand down over the strings in a down-stroke, up-stroke, and carried it along chords that climbed high up to the chorus’ introduction. He cut the strings with his palm at each resting beat to the tune of, “ _One—twenty-one guns!_ ”

Gon never had the highest voice to begin with, but he praised his feminine vocal cords for hitting that high note. He grinned at Zushi, who slapped both hands over his face and could only watch through his fingers as Gon stood up on the mattress, singing, “ _Lay down your arms—! give up the fi—ight!_ ”

“Holy shit—kid’s got a set of pipes!” Uvogin laughed, sitting up on the bed. 

Knuckle burst to his feet, fully belting out, “ _ONE—! TWENTY-ONE GUNS!_ ” and Gon  _knew_ the guy had the second-deepest goddamn voice he ever did hear—right next to Uvogin. So really, Gon should have expected to be blown away by his range but he certainly wasn’t. He burst out laughing, still strumming to the beat as Knuckle turned it into a goddamn rock concert with a set of vocal cords that could turn it into metal in an instant. 

Not only that, but being in music theory certainly didn’t mean that  _any of them_ could sing. But dammit, Knuckle Bine could.

Knuckle pointed to him at the end of the chorus, and Gon picked it up again, knowing that of the two of them, Gon could hit the high notes with less difficulty. 

But by then, they had the attention of the entire store, and customers had come to watch from the outskirts of their aisle. Gon cursed at the sight of someone who looked suspiciously like a manager crossing her arms at them, so he scrambled off of the bed, singing, “ _Your faith walks on broken glass… and the hang-over doesn’t pass—Nothing’s ev-ver built to last, you’re in ruins…_ ”

_She’s not coming for us_ , Gon thought, turning to look at the group of stragglers at the other end of the aisle. 

And then, Knuckle was lunging down from the bed like Superman from the sky, slamming his fist to the ground to kickstart the next verse as Gon and Zushi startled, laughing. Knuckle rose, steadily, fists clenched and rising to the sky as he carried on to the line, “ _Throw up your arms into the sky—YOU AND I—!_ ”

They needed some percussion, so Gon started stomping and Knuckle promptly joined in. They wound up stomping their way to the end of the aisle, Zushi and Uvogin behind them. Zushi refused to participate, but Uvogin was stomping and clapping his hands all the way down the aisle following the broad gesture the manager took towards the exit. 

One of the employees held the door open for them and then, as soon as they were out on the streets, they closed it.

The four of them stood on the sidewalk and watched the worker lock the door and waited for them to leave.

Gon lowered Melvin 2.0 and turned to Zushi. “Fuck, I still need a matress.” He plucked a somber tune from his guitar. 

“There’s more than one mattress store,” Zushi offered, hands still over his cheeks.

“Yeah, and maybe don’t bring the guitar next time so we won’t be tempted,” Uvogin suggested, pointing to Melvin 2.0. 

They set to work getting a mattress—an  _actual_ mattress this time, and not a restraining order like the last place. Within five minutes of arriving at the next mattress store (on the other side of San Francisco), Gon had a mattress picked out and the four of them forewent the movement fees for the sake of Gon’s bank account, and also the fact that he had three friends to help him out. 

Since they were on the other side of San Francisco, it would have taken ages for them to escape rush hour. Thankfully, they just managed to miss it after pinning the mattress down atop Gon’s car. Gon was sweating by the time they strung the rope through the open car windows and latched down the mattress. It made maneuvering inside a bit tedious, as they all had to slip in through the windows rather than the doors. 

Knuckle and Uvogin leapt in feet-first into the back seat while Zushi crawled in on his hands, feet flailing behind him. Gon hefted himself up with his hands on the roof of the car and swung inside, dropping awkwardly with his knees bumping into the wheel. He accidentally stomped the horn on the way in, but it was fine, because they were all inside and ready to move. 

A massive shadow was cast over the hood of his car due to the mattress hovering over the top of it. 

Gon twisted around to look behind him at Knuckle and Uvogin and said, “Y’all better keep it from sliding off the back.”

“Will do,” Knuckle said.

“Don’t say that—we don’t know if we can,” Uvogin said.

“Oh, so now you’re doubting me? Is that it?”

Uvogin put a hand to his heart, the other through the window to the mattress. “You know I have the utmost trust in you.”

“That doesn’t even make sense—” Knuckle hissed, only to be cut off by Zushi cranking the music as Gon put a hand behind the passenger’s seat and watched over his shoulder as he backed out of the parking spot.

The instant they were out onto the streets at a slow crawl, Gon was muttering to himself, “Oh dear Lord, this is it. We’re fucking doing this—oh shit, oh shit—” as Knuckle waved a dismissive hand and said, “It’ll be  _fine_ , bro. We’ve got this under control—whoa-ho-HOkay, okay!”

Zushi screamed as the mattress dipped forward, just a touch, just enough for Gon to see it above the windshield. Uvogin and Knuckle scrambled to steady it, hauling it back as the rope creaked ominously against the metal. 

Zushi had a hand braced firmly on the dashboard, the other on the center console. Gon’s knuckles turned white on the steering wheel as he took the first of many turns around San Francisco to the Design District. There, the streets were more familiar, less complex, and altogether  _safe_ in comparison to the manic downtown.

Gon slowed outside of his apartment complex. There was still some daylight left, albeit  _muffled_ through the overcast, which made it difficult to see up to the second floor where his and Killua’s apartment window overlooked the street. All there happened to be on that window was a nice, white, opaque glare.

Gon reached for his phone.

His eyes went wide. 

“ _Shit_ ,” he whispered under his breath, and it was disguised beneath the sound of all three car windows being exited from. Gon couldn’t bring himself to reach for his own without wanting to vomit because—

—he didn’t have Killua’s phone number.

“This building here?” Knuckle asked, stomping one foot onto the curb, his hands on his belt loops, and his other foot on the street. He looked like a modern-day cowboy and if he had the hat to boot, Zushi would have flicked it. 

Gon scrambled for the driver window. He grunted with the effort to escape until the exact moment Uvogin leant over and hooked his massive hands under Gon’s armpits. Gon ceased all motion, turning into a firm, motionless wooden board in the process that Uvogin then gently rested on the asphalt. Gon wavered, just a tad, like a nice gust came off of the Bay right at that very moment. 

He turned to Uvogin, who retracted his hands. “Thank you,” he said.

“My liege,” Uvogin said, with a flourish. 

Gon started ahead, still disoriented. “Uh, yeah, this is my building. But I should, uh, make sure that there’s… enough room! Yeah, get it all cleaned up.”

“Come on, dude, we know,” Knuckle said, rolling his eyes. Gon stared at him, horrified. Knuckle gestured to the apartment and said, “About the body.”

Zushi slapped Knuckle in the massive, hulking bicep. “Bro, not cool. Sorry—I apologize on behalf of Knuckle’s morbid sense of humor.”

“Not morbid if it’s true,” Knuckle huffed.

“The news would say otherwise,” Zushi hissed through clenched teeth, which he then turned to Gon in a crooked smile. “I’ll hold the door while Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum snag the mattress. What number?”

Gon gave him the flat number and, the instant he did, he took off for the door. Zushi followed after him and, after catching the door behind Gon, waved him off with a sweet, unsuspecting smile. 

Gon never ran up a set of stairs so fast in his life. He came, skidding, to the second floor landing so hard and so fast that his shoes slid him directly into the opposite wall. He scrambled, a hand touching the wood floors with a curse. His keys clanked in his hand as he scrambled forward, the door in view, and his heart halfway out of his throat. 

“Please don’t be home, please don’t be home,” Gon thought aloud as he unlocked the door. 

The door clicked. 

Gon sucked in a sharp, desperate breath and held it. 

He cracked the door open, just a touch. 

He peered inside, eyes wide. When the foyer was deemed empty, Gon slipped inside, nudged off his shoes, and hurried to the open bathroom door. Nothing. And then, he was racing through the living space, the empty kitchen, and Killua’s bedroom door. 

“Number four: Don’t go in each others’ rooms,” Gon told himself, fists clenched at his sides. He sucked in a deep breath and reached one hand up to the wood.

He gave it a weak, disjointed knock that betrayed every ounce of his guilt. He pulled back and waited, quietly, but he didn’t hear a thing on the other side. 

A rush of relief swept through him. He could have collapsed, but instead, he tripped down the stairs to the kitchen and skidded to a halt in front of the fridge. There, he plucked the rules off of the fridge, folded them up, and reached up to tuck it into a cabinet. 

Killua’s bedroom door opened.

“Holy—Mother of  _God!_ ” Gon shrieked, heart bursting in his chest. He gasped, half out of the agony from his bleeding heart, and the other from seeing Killua standing there in the open bedroom door.

Killua stared dully at him and rolled his eyes. “You knocked?”


	5. Any Way You Want It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killua's got a dumbass to fix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The bop for this chapter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mmasR6_1lBo&list=RDQAo_Ycocl1E&index=5)

“You knocked?” Killua droned.

Gon kicked into gear, rules still in hand. Killua pointed to them and asked, “What’re you doing with those—” only to be cut off by Gon shrieking in a barely restrained whisper, “No time to explain! I had to buy a mattress and Zushi, Knuckle, and Uvogin are helping bring it—”

The both stilled at the distant sound of Knuckle cursing in the stairwell. “ _Almost there… I think this is Gon’s flat_ ,” Zushi’s voice sounded, just outside of the foyer. “ _Almost! You’re not the one carrying it!_ ” Uvogin shouted. 

Gon spun back around, pinned like a frog on a biology countertop from the way Killua was glaring at him.

“You fucking idiot,” Killua seethed, and Gon yelped at the sound of the front door opening. Killua cursed again, under his breath, and scrambled back to his bedroom. Gon skidded after him, assisting in shutting the door before Knuckle and Uvogin ever made it over the threshold.

Gon flattened his back to the Killua’s closed door, only to shriek at the sight of the apartment rules in his hand. He stuffed them up the front of his shirt without thinking twice. 

“Gon?” Zushi called into the apartment, footsteps coming to the foyer door. 

Gon yelped. “Over here!”

“Oh, thank God—I thought we just burst into a stranger’s flat,” Zushi laughed, striding into the living space with an impressed whistle. “Wow… nice place, dude.”

“Thanks—”

“It’s not messy at all! I was expecting, like, a pigsty or something.”

“That’s because I just threw the pigsty out the window,” Gon said as he reached for his bedroom door. “This is my room.”

He flattened a hand over his stomach where the paper crinkled. The sound was drowned out by Knuckle and Uvogin cursing in the foyer, so Gon and Zushi rushed in to help. The four of them struggled across the apartment to Gon’s room where they kicked aside Gon’s sleeping bag in favor of dropping the mattress onto the hardwood floor. 

The instant it was down, Knuckle and Uvogin collapsed onto the mattress.

Zushi put his hands on his hips. “What’re you two lazing about for? Don’t y’all work out or something?”

“Or something,” Knuckle huffed, rubbing a hand over his forehead. He passed his fingers through his black curls and glanced over at Uvogin, who let out a gruff groan as he sat up, straightened, and stretched his shoulders out. 

“Nice place you’ve got here, Freecss,” Uvogin said.

“Uh, thanks.”

“So, you rich or something?” he asked.

Gon winced—Zushi’s punch to Uvogin’s upper thigh looked like it hurt like a sonuvabitch. “Uh… not exactly. My aunt—she’s helping me out. And I got a pretty good deal on this place.”

“How good?” Zushi asked, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the wall opposite the windows. “And by that I mean could I move into the bedroom over there.”

Gon’s heart stopped.

“Th-That isn’t a bedroom,” Gon said, weakly. “Just a… closet. Large closet.”

“Who said I couldn’t live in a large closet? This body is com _pact_ , bro,” Zushi said, hands stationed squarely on his narrow hips. 

Knuckle yawned, flopping his phone out of his pocket. He raised it up, only to hesitate, eyes stilling on the screen. Uvogin took notice and turned, only to have his head bashed in when Knuckle shot up and knocked his head straight into Uvogin’s.

“Ow,  _fuck!_ ” Knuckle groaned.

“Shit, dude!”

“What happened?” Gon said, alarmed. 

“It’s—Retz—” Knuckle grunted, a hand on his head. 

“Retz? No way!” Zushi shrieked, clapping his hands.

Gon didn’t recognize the name and his brain superimposed Ritz Crackers over it. “Dare I ask: who’s… Retz?”

Uvogin cursed under his breath as he pushed off of the mattress, shaking his head. Knuckle threw his arms out, exasperated, and said, “Only USFC’s  _best_ journalist! She scores  _every_ ounce of tea on campus—and she’s scored shit on Zoldyck before.”

_Fuck_ , Gon thought, wincing. He glanced at the door where Uvogin was heading out into the main living space. Gon raced after him, paranoid that Killua’s last name being spoken allowed would summon his roommate. 

“What do you mean… ‘ _stuff on Zoldyck_ ’,” Gon asked, raising his voice a touch, intentionally looking away from the “closet” door. He stood on the steps in front of it, though, so he could guard it from Zushi and Knuckle’s prying eyes as they left the bedroom. 

“Here, I’ll show you,” Knuckle said, and Gon rose an eyebrow at Zushi, who shrugged.

“We’re all on her mailing list,” Zushi said.

“Why?”

“For the sweet, sweet tidbits of juicy, juicy gossip she gives us, duh,” he explained. “Last time Killua came up in her newsletter, it was because someone found out he was moving out of the dorms. Who just  _moves out of the dorms_ for second semester?! Especially when you’re  _that_ good-looking?”

Gon shook his head, confused. “What does being good-looking have to do with it?”

“Nothing. He just wanted to remind everyone that Killua’s perfect,” Knuckle said with a sigh. He held out a photo to Gon, and Uvogin came around, clasped an arm around Gon’s shoulders, and leant in to the screen. Zushi weaseled in, his head perched on Gon’s shoulder.

It was a picture of what appeared to be the back of Killua’s head, pulling a cigarette out of a woman’s mouth. The woman looked like she could have been a model, or at the very least, a celebrity. No one wore sunglasses that size, or black sunhats around San Francisco.

“Girlfriend?” Uvogin asked. 

Knuckle gave him a dull stare. “Since when were you interested in Killua.”

“I’m not! I’m just asking—keeping the conversation going!” Uvogin said. When Knuckle rolled his eyes away, Uvogin shoved him roughly in the arm, but not before Gon swept the phone out of Knuckle’s hands. 

He squinted at the photo. It was already so zoomed in that Gon could see the smoke on the woman’s lips. 

_Killua’s probably listening_ , Gon thought, pinching his fingers to his bottom lip. If someone was taking pictures of Killua without his say-so, then the guy deserved to know it and know  _when_ it happened.

“Where was this taken?” Gon asked. “I don’t recognize this view.”

“It’s the top floor of the parking structure,” Zushi said. “What did the article say?”

“He got into that black car in the foreground. Retz, that whore, she blurred out the license plate,” Knuckle muttered. He crossed his arms and seethed, “What I wouldn’t give to run that plate through a police database…”

“Wow, okay then,” Gon said. 

“Knuckle! There you go again, with that morbid sense of humor!” Zushi cried. 

“Does… this chick  _really_ go around scraping gossip together and putting it in a  _newsletter?_ ” Gon asked, and when Uvogin shrugged, Knuckle winced, and Zushi nodded, his answer was clear. “Oh. That’s kinda—I mean, no offense—scummy.”

“Oh, it is, but I love it,” Zushi sighed dreamily. “She’s got a whole squad of photographers on her team! They have eyes and ears  _everywhere_ .”

“Ominous. Sounds kind of like high school,” Gon said in a borderline grumble. High school… wasn’t the greatest, and the gossip just made it worse. He hadn’t considered he’d take it to college, but gossip went around his old community college.

He wasn’t sure why he thought USFC would be any different.

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Zushi said with a wave of his hand. 

“And look at the photo quality! Look at his ass!” Knuckle said, pointing to the picture in Gon’s lowered hand. 

“No! I’m not gonna look at it!” Gon lied, because he had already stared at it for approximately five seconds while Zushi and Knuckle chattered on about Retz. He slapped the phone back in Knuckle’s hand before he could be accused.

“For shame! I thought you were gay!”

“I-I am!” Gon cried, voice cracking. He cleared his throat and rasped, “But—! That’s inappropriate!”

“ _Inappropriate_ ,” Knuckle teased, crossing his arms. He stuck his tongue out at Gon and said, “I’ll show  _you_ inappropriate.”

“Don’t make it sound like a threat! You’re gonna scare him away!” Zushi exclaimed, shoving Knuckle towards the exit. He laughed nervously at the horrified look on Gon’s face. “I’m sure he won’t show you ‘inappropriate’, whatever that means.”

“I’ll come up with something,” Knuckle promised, shaking a finger in the air.

Uvogin clasped onto Gon’s shoulders and gave him a firm shake. “Nice place, dude. Thanks for letting us infiltrate.”

“N-No problem,” Gon squeaked. Zushi was herding Knuckle out of the front door, so Gon followed after Uvogin and asked, “You don’t think Knuckle meant anything by that, do you? I’m just not really about the whole crazy, flamboyant scene.”

“Well, unfortunately for you,” Uvogin said, clasping a hand to Gon shoulder. Gon swallowed hard. “Knuckle definitely  _is_ part of that scene. I’ll see you later, Freecss.”

He took off with a light wave before disappearing around the open front door. Zushi peered in and waved to Gon, saying, “See ya tomorrow!” before shutting the door. Gon could hardly raise his hand to wave. 

Exhaustion seeped through him and, both hands clasped to the strap of his guitar case, slumped his head forward against the hallway’s archway. He groaned, the dread seeping in as soon as he heard Killua’s bedroom doorknob turn. 

He heard Killua’s footsteps behind him, approaching menacingly from the bedroom door. 

“For some reason,” Killua started, and Gon flinched, “I expected you to crack. I’m surprised you kept it together.”

“You and me both,” Gon groaned. He pushed off of the wall and went to lock the front door. Once the bolt was secure, Gon lifted the guitar case from his shoulders and carried it into the living room. “I thought you worked tonight.”

“I do. Not until nine, though,” Killua said. Gon put a hand to his face to hide his embarrassment. 

“I know exactly what you’re thinking…” Gon sighed.

“Oh, do you? Do you really?”

“ _Yes_ . You’re thinking about the apartment rules and how I just broke one of ‘em.”

“Technically two, since you’re still wearing shoes.”

Gon looked down at his feet. Sure enough, he was still in his converse and his shirt still crinkled with the rule paper. He pulled it out from under his shirt and Killua rolled his eyes, walking away. 

“It was evidence! That I have a roommate!” Gon insisted, but it was no use. Killua certainly thought he was insane now.

Killua wasn’t particularly upset about Freecss dragging three of his college buddies through their apartment. It helped that they didn’t have enough furniture for it to seem like two people lived there, and their shoe sizes were similar… they  _did_ have two tooth brushes, though, and Killua would have to remember that, for next time. 

He rubbed a hand through his hair as Gon went to the kitchen to pin the rules back up. Killua inhaled the smell of someone’s cologne from that whole charade that just swept through the apartment. Bine seemed like the type of guy to wash his clothes in cologne like that. And Freecss…

Who was he kidding.

The kid was wearing  _basketball shorts_ like  _that_ was called ‘fashion’. As if Freecss would bother with cologne. He wasn’t sure why, but it made his skin crawl. 

But then he remembered standing on the other side of his closed bedroom door, listening to Freecss and his friends talk about  _him_ .  _Freecss said he was gay—well, at least I have pronouns for the guy now_ , Killua thought. He felt immensely awkward having to ask after they were coming on four days of living with each other. It was too late for that chat, and he wasn’t about to act like he was interested to know more about Gon Freecss.

But what  _did_ interest him went along the lines of: why the  _hell_ did Freecss think basketball shorts were okay in  _San Francisco?_

“Dude, do you always wear those?” Killua said, a hand on his hips. He leant against one of the kitchen chairs and watched Freecss turn away from the posted rules. 

Freecss glanced down at himself. “I, um, I don’t know? It’s comfortable.”

Killua rolled his eyes. “It’s  _boring_ . That’s how shitty high school boys dress.”

“I-I’m not shitty!” Freecss squeaked, voice cracking. “A-And I don’t always wear these shirts. I wear sweatshirts a lot.”

“Uh, yeah, and no wonder you wear baggy pants otherwise those sweatshirts would make regular shorts look nonexistent,” Killua said.

Gon clamped his mouth shut. His ears felt like they were on fire. “S-Since when did you keep track of my wardrobe? You’ve barely seen a quarter of it!”

“Because I’ve seen a whole damn  _half_ of it! You had one goddamn box of clothes, dude, and most of the volume of it was taken up by your winter jacket!” Killua said with a laugh that shriveled up Gon’s confidence and sent his eyes to the ground. 

Killua watched it—the exact moment Freecss curled in on himself—and sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose and thought to himself,  _Why did I bother? It’s not like I actually give a shit_ . That didn’t change the fact that he could, quite literally, spend an entire  _day_ at Westfield. Not only that, but he had done so with Kurapika on more than one occasion. 

And now that he couldn’t spend money, he could at least get his shopping fix sorted and taken care of through Freecss. It was the least Freecss could do to make up for ruining his life, right?

Right?

“It’s just that—” Freecss started, clearing his throat. He plucked at the front of his shirt and said, “—I don’t like wearing tight clothes. And tshirts cover up my sports bra straps, so…”

“You can cover ‘em up and still look halfway decent, you know,” Killua said. Freecss rose an eyebrow at him, and Killua looked away with a tsk. “And tucking your shirts in the right way lifts the shirt off your chest.”

“I don’t know,” Gon sighed, picking at his nails. He looked down at the frayed hangnail on his thumb and sighed. “I’ve got some homework to do. Have fun at work,” he said, and with that, he shuffled over to his room where Killua could see the edge of the brand new mattress on the floor. And then, Gon shut the door.

Killua folded his arms over his chest. It irritated him that people could just sit and let their image fester in shitty clothing. Not that… he cared about Freecss image.  _Well, Chrollo knows I’m living with the idiot_ , Killua reasoned.  _The least Chrollo could do was acknowledge the fact that my roommate isn’t a total bum_ .

Killua shook his head.  _In what world would Chrollo be seeing Freecss again?_ He rubbed his hands uncomfortably over his cheeks.

He clenched his fist beneath his chin and studied the refrigerator for a long, dreadful moment. They needed food, for one, now that their Dominos order had effectively run out. 

Killua went to Freecss’ door and knocked on it. He pushed a hand to the doorframe and waited until it opened, and Freecss peered out at him, eyes wide. 

Killua looked up from the floor and said, “Tell ya what: Tomorrow? We’re going grocery shopping. And then I’m taking you shopping for new clothes.”

Freecss’ nose wrinkled. “Sounds girly.”

Killua rose an eyebrow at him. “You callin’ me girly, Freecss?”

“N-No! I’m not—”

“Does it  _look_ like I’m wearing a fucking dress?” Killua said, gesturing to his own clothes.

He snickered when Freecss put his eyes to the ceiling, cheeks pink. “ _No_ . I just  _don’t_ like shopping—”

“Yeah, well, I do. And you know how many male fashion designers are out there?”

Gon scuffed his foot on the wood floorboards, muttering, “ _Yeah_ , but that’s the patriarchy for ya…”

“Listen: If you’re going to USFC—a liberal  _arts_ college—you gotta at least  _look_ like it,” Killua said. Gon rose an eyebrow up at him. “You’re gonna need business casual clothes anyway for internships. You can look dapper without being feminine.”

“But…  _you_ look kinda feminine,” Gon said, rubbing a finger behind his ear. He looked hesitantly up at Killua’s annoyed expression. “It’s not a bad thing. I just don’t wanna look like that.”

Killua pushed off of the doorframe because he could already tell that Freecss was beating himself up over that last comment. When he turned away, Gon put his hands to his face and groaned. 

“I didn’t—That wasn’t an insult…”

“‘Course it wasn’t,” Killua scoffed, rolling his eyes. He went to his bedroom and leant against the door handle. He glanced over at where Gon had yet to look beyond his mortified hands over his face. “If ya wanna make it up to me, trust my fashion sense, ‘cause you fucking need it.”

Gon groaned and slapped his hands down. “ _Fine_ . Okay? We can go  _shopping_ or whatever.”

“Tomorrow after grocery shopping.”

“ _Before_ . Since the food’s gonna be in the car,” Gon grumbled. He crossed his arms, indignant and annoyed with having caved. 

Agreeing was the first of many mistakes on Gon’s part, and suggesting the clothing spree was the first of many more mistakes to come from Killua. However, upon the morrow, they could both find themselves in Gon’s car after a rather tiresome journey off of campus where Killua could enter Gon’s vehicle without being seen by their classmates. 

Killua was still paranoid, however, as they arrived at Westfield Center. He tugged on a beanie, his mind on the amateur paparazzi Gon’s friends had mentioned at the apartment. He topped it off with a pair of sunglasses and a thick white scarf to cover the black fabric of his turtleneck. 

He was checking himself out in the mirror on the windsheild shade when Gon said, “Is that really necessary?”

“Got a problem, Freecss?”

“I asked you first.”

“And I’m in charge, bitch,” Killua said, and when Gon said nothing, he looked over and found Gon scowling at the wheel. “Fine. ‘ _Bastard_ ’.”

“That still isn’t nice,” Gon pouted, arms crossed. “I didn’t even want to come and now you’re making this experience even  _less_ pleasant.”

“Quit being a sour-puss,” Killua huffed, and he looked away the instant he caught sight of Gon turning to glare at him. He rubbed a hand over his forehead and said, “Fuck, sorry. Quit being a  _bitch-ass_ —wait— _fuck_ .”

By some miracle, Gon burst out laughing, and Killua startled at the sound of it. He looked at Gon, who’s giggling turned into deep smile lines and dimples that he tried to hide behind his hand.

“I’ll quit being a  _bitch-ass_ when you quit being a  _dickwad_ ,” Gon teased, grinning as he pushed out of the driver’s door and slammed the door behind him. 

Killua snickered and followed Gon’s lead. 

Killua stuffed his hands into his pockets as they approached the archway outside of Westfield. He glanced at Gon, who was too busy nibbling on his bottom lip to realize that Killua was waiting for him to take the first step. Killua gestured with his elbow, nudging Gon ahead. 

Gon staggered forward, startled, and glanced back at Killua. Killua looked away, whistling absently, innocent as ever. 

“I don’t even know where to go,” Gon huffed, marching forward. He clenched his fists at his sides and huffed again, huffed some more, and scowled at the stores around them. He turned back around to where Killua lingered idly near the entrance. 

Killua shooed him along, picking up the pace until he settled just a step behind Gon in time to steer him into a Forever 21. When Gon’s voice rose up in dissent, Killua shushed him and said, “Just trust me on this.”

“No—! Killua, come on—”

“Don’t say my name, you little shit,” Killua hissed, steering Gon with both hands on Gon’s shoulders, weaving him to the back of the store where the men’s section was. 

Gon startled at the sight of it, feet skidding on the tiles. He stared at it, but didn’t move to escape when the weight of Killua’s hands lifted. Killua circled around with a look on his face that said,  _See?_

Gon clamped his mouth shut. “Shut up,” Gon snapped, annoyed. “I’m not happy about this. So what if they sell men’s clothes!”

“What, like you’ll find something cheaper at American Eagle? As if  _I’m_ setting foot in a Holister,” Killua said with a pompous scoff. He flitted through the hangers as Gon dragged his feet around and gave half-hearted tugs at fabric here and there but never committed. 

And then, the price tags started to pile up—all over Gon’s face, shoulders, and extended arms. The first time Killua hit him in the face with a flannel, Gon screamed, thinking he was being attacked. Killua topped it with a hat that he yanked over Gon’s eyes. 

Gon flicked it off immediately, disgusted. “Dude, lice!”

“ _‘Dude, lice,_ ’” Killua teased in a snooty voice. He gave Gon a dull look and threw a sweater at him. Gon caught it, only to miss the button-up shirt soaring at him. Killua topped it with a striped, girlish sweater that Gon wanted to burn instantly, but before he could stomp it onto the ground, Killua grabbed it and stared Gon dead in the eyes. A challenge.

Gon sneered as Killua said, “You try it on, and if you don’t like it, don’t buy it.”

“Alright, fine! Whatever,” Gon said, not happy in the slightest. 

“Fucking good,” Killua muttered to himself as he drifted from hanger to hanger, picking out the cheapest finds from the racks. 

They ended up outside of the dressing room with twenty goddamn items and a worker saying they could only take six at a time. Gon could just barely see the chick from over the mound of clothes Killua gave him, and Killua looked at it and, refusing to give up a single one, took the majority of the stack. 

“For fuck’s sake,” he sighed, taking a seat outside of one of the dressing rooms.

The woman sent Gon behind the curtain with six items and no more. She swept the curtain closed before Gon could get out a word of resentment towards Killua. Killua crossed his legs, slapped his arms over the pile of clothes, and waited with a bored expression on his face.

He didn’t expect the curtain to open a minute later just because Freecss was looking for approval.

Killua looked towards the flurry of curtain swinging aside. There, looking extra as  _fuck_ , stood Freecss in a pair of beige, plaid slacks that would look  _amazing_ with patterned socks. But, given the state of Freecss’ white tube socks, that was all Killua could get from  _that_ department. The look was topped with a simple white tee with plain, filler text across the chest.

“—Killua?” Gon repeated. 

_Fuck_ , Killua thought, meeting Gon’s eyes after acknowledging that for a split second— _just_ a split second, nothing more—they had wandered. 

“What.”

“Does it look okay? I feel like the slacks are too short—”

“They’re fine.”

“But my ankles—”

“It’s fine. Throw this on top,” Killua ordered, throwing a grey letterman sweater at him. Gon caught it by the leather collar and, grumbling to himself about how much he hated dressing rooms, shrugged the jacket on and gave it a good shake to straighten it out.

Killua gestured to the floorlength mirror behind Gon. Gon spun around and, after a few seconds of staring, jumped as if shocked. “Wha—Why does that look good! The pants are ridiculous, why is it—?” 

“ _Next_ ,” Killua prompted, leaning over and tugging the curtain closed.

They went through floral-printed tees, maroon joggers, black skinny-jeans and collared, patterned polos. There were only a few near misses, and at the end, Gon sat on the ground, his head in his hands, internally fretting over the fact that he needed to find a place to store all this shit once he bought it. 

On the last outfit—a multicolored, stripped longsleeve shirt paired with a pair of dark, muted blue jeans—Killua instructed that he tuck the shirt in. He topped it off with a vest, which Gon slipped on after plucking at the front of the shirt so that it wouldn’t fit his form so tightly. But, with the vest, there was nothing to be concerned about. 

“Oh! I get it,” Gon said, slapping both hands over his chest through the vest. “Layers cover it up.”

“I mean, that wasn’t what I was going for, but yeah, that works,” Killua said. 

They gathered up the clothes Gon settled on and together went to investigate the damage at the cash register. There, the cashier rang up the total and it struck a mighty blow into both of their hearts. Gon slapped a hand over his chest and looked at Killua, who stared at it, and then at Gon. 

“I thought you said Forever 21 was  _cheap_ .”

“It used to be,” Killua said.

Gon pulled out his card with a roll of his eyes and swiped it on the machine. A small price to pay, he supposed, for looking halfway decent. 


	6. Oh, Pretty Woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The bop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3KFvoDDs0XM)

Killua Zoldyck never twerked a day in his life before  _The Phantom_ . Honest to God, hand on the bible, in front of the court, Killua Zoldyck could safely say that he barely knew how to  _dance_ before  _The Phantom_ happened. And it certainly wasn’t like he had an ass suitable for a strip club. It was all flat back there before  _The Phantom_ , and then the training started.

But before training, and before Killua could even dance, he did his research and found himself on the doorstep of  _The Phantom_ at the ripe young age of seventeen. He was barely over that seventeen-year-old threshold, but he was  _so_ goddamn done with the Zoldyck life. 

If he wanted his own life and his own college degree, he needed to make cash for it, first and foremost.

The first person Killua ever met at the club was Machi— _The Phantom_ ’s best and brightest bodyguard. Killua would soon learn that when Machi was on duty, there was bound to be some form of shenanigans from newcomers underestimating her prowess. The dark side of Killua loved to stand and watch Machi bodyslam guys who made her dancers uncomfortable. The look of abject  _horror_ on the clients’ faces… Priceless. 

“This ain’t the school yard, kid. Buzz off,” Machi said from the doorway before Killua could even approach the hostess.

“You don’t even know how old I am,” Killua snapped. “Just because I’m Asian doesn’t mean—”

Machi pointed to her own face, leaning in to go nose-to-nose with him. Killua leant back, startled, as Machi said, “Yeah, and how old do I look, pipsqueak? A day old?”

Killua, being the dumb bastard he was, rolled his eyes and reached for his fake ID. Milluki was a goddamn genius when it came to fake IDs, but in other areas—most areas, actually—he was an idiot. So, Machi took one, two, three looks at Killua’s ID before handing it back, unconvinced, and gestured for him to get inside. 

The second person Killua ever met at  _The Phantom_ was the host: Hisoka Morow, otherwise known as the bane of Killua’s existence and the blessing to his wallet. That godforsaken idiot knew the kinks of every rotten bastard in the Bay area and by God, he knew who was willing to pay. 

“Aw, what a sweet little thing,” Hisoka purred, a hand on his cocked him and the other on the banister overlooking the warehouse. 

Killua’s eyes were everywhere  _but_ Hisoka until that moment because holy  _shit_ , this place was the real deal.

Amidst the spiraling blue and pink lights, Killua cleared his throat and his vision of one of the dancers nearest the entrance. That initial walkway only then opened up after a narrow foyer with blacked-out windows to avoid onlookers from peering in. 

Killua put his hands in his pockets to avoid touching anything. The action had that cheeky host grinning. “I, um, I’m here to talk to your boss,” Killua said.

“Oh? And on what grounds.”

“The grounds that say I’m looking for a job.”

“Oh, hun, we don’t hire,” Hisoka said, and Killua rose an eyebrow at him. “We audition. If you want a stage, you gotta earn it.”

“Fine, whatever. I’d like to schedule an audition.”

And then, Hisoka was walking Killua up to the bar where he met his third Phantom member: Leorio. Leorio was at the bar that night and was there to greet Killua when Hisoka pulled him up, clasped a hand onto his shoulder, and said, “Have you seen our dear sweet boss around by any chance?”

“I think he’s in his office,” Leorio said. He pointed to Killua and asked, “Who’s this kid?”

“I’m not a kid,” Killua snapped. 

“Sounds like something a kid would say,” Leorio said.

Hisoka laughed as Killua clenched his teeth to keep from making another biting remark. Killua followed after Hisoka as they rounded the bar and slipped through the curtains that blocked off an archway to a back cooridor. Killua glanced back at the main room of the warehouse, where the blue spotlights cast silhouettes against the sheer curtain and blurred the face of Leorio leaning over to peer after them. 

The music was fainter back here but just as dense in Killua’s chest where the bass throbbed in his ribcage. He followed Hisoka down a blacklit hallway where cement-brick walls blocked off what appeared to be one long locker room. Killua nearly looked in until he saw a guy fully butt-naked across the room. 

Chrollo’s office didn’t look much different from how it looked now. It was in one of the small cement-block rooms that likely served as a storage space back in the day, but was now transformed and disgused behind red velvet curtains and a desk that was mostly there to mimic some sort of superiority. 

When they stepped into the room, it all seemed empty until a blanket rustled off to the side, and Killua thought they just walked in on two people fucking. Instead, it was just that dark-haired scum lounging on the couch, the blanket over his face, and his legs too long to fit beneath it. 

Chrollo peered over the hem of the blanket and, voice gruff with sleep, said, “What is it.”

He stretched his arms over his head as Hisoka gestured to Killua and said, “Fresh meat. I’ll leave you two to it.”

Chrollo grunted as he sat up, pulling his feet back onto the couch from where they were dangling over the armrest. Killua rose an eyebrow at him and, once Hisoka was gone, said, “ _You’re_ the boss?”

“I take it I don’t  _look_ like it, do I?” Chrollo sighed. He stretched a hand out to Killua, who gave it a firm shake. “Chrollo Lucilfer.”

“Killua. Just… Killua.”

“Looking for a stage then? And if you say you’re a bartender, I’ll have to politely disagree.”

“Not a bartender,” Killua agreed. 

Chrollo looked him up and down, eyes lingering heavily with every ounce of judgement Killua had never felt outside of his the Zoldyck estate. Killua resisted the instinctual urges to swallow, clear his throat, straighten himself, and fix up his hair. Instead, he stood, eyes dull and brooding.

Chrollo pushed his feet to the ground, elbows to his knees, and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Too pretty to be a janitor…” he hummed, and Killua’s ears turned pink. Were it not for the red lighting in that office space, it would have been abundantly obvious on his alibaster skin.

Little did Killua know, though, that most of the janitor duties were performed by the dancers anyway. The cost of hiring cleaning companies to scrub the surfaces of a strip club were far too pricey for Chrollo to care for.

“Host?” Chrollo asked, only then meeting Killua’s eyes.

Killua narrowed his eyes. “Dancer.”

Chrollo laughed. It just soured Killua’s expression further. “Right, and where did you last perform.”

“D-Does that even matter? Your host said you accept auditions.”

“No where then,” he concluded, and Killua thought he might burst into flames. Chrollo leant back on the couch, arms crossed, and stared a bit longer at Killua’s face, and then gave a little gesture for Killua to turn around. Killua rolled his eyes and complied, facing the opposite wall as Chrollo checked him out. 

He heard the springs on the couch creak and, a moment later, felt a hand on the back of his neck. He shivered at the cool, icy touch of Chrollo’s hands pulling his shaggy hair up. 

Killua shuddered a little when Chrollo’s fingernails grazed his scalp. He twisted around and slapped Chrollo’s hands off. “Oi, watch it,” Killua hissed. 

“What’ll it cost to touch it?” Chrollo asked, and when Killua did nothing but stare, Chrollo offered a crooked grin and leant back against the armrest. “That’s what you’ll hear on the floor. Everyone’s got a price out there. Customers talk, too, but they’ll be willing to pay for… certain privleges with you.”

“I’m not a prostitute. I thought this was a fucking strip club,” Killua said, running his hands through his hair. He pulled at it, fervently, and glared when Chrollo’s smile only grew.

“You’re right, but everything that happens on the floor would be up to you.  _You_ decide how much it costs for a lap dance, for them to touch you…”

_Yeah, no, no touching_ , Killua thought to himself, but he could already tell that was a boundary that would have to break here. He let out a low sigh and said, “Right, well, I’ll figure that out. I take it the other dancers have ideas for that. So how does pay work?”

“ _Pay?_ Well shit, if only I knew,” Chrollo laughed, only to hesitate, clear his throat, and reiterate since it seemed Killua was in the dark. “Whatever you make? That’s yours to keep. This isn’t an hourly gig—it never is, except for… Well, we’ll get to that. At the end of the night, I recommend tipping the bartender, the host, and the bouncer mostly because they send clients to the dancers they like. The more you pay ‘em, the more they’ll like you, so the more customers flock to you.”

Killua nodded, knowing that this would all preface the fact that he may or may not even be  _working_ at  _The Phantom_ . “So… what’s this whole audition thing about?”

At that, Chrollo pushed off of the armrest and gestured for Killua to follow him out of the door. Killua trailed after, hesitant and altogether concerned about Chrollo’s silence that followed them back out to the bar. 

At the bar, Chrollo asked for a drink and Leorio poured him a whiskey on the rocks. Chrollo gestured for Killua to get something, and before he could even consider saying no, Killua looked out at the stages and decided that the only way he’d be getting through this night would be drunk.

They took their drinks to one of the booths away from the stages, where they could watch the dancers from afar amidst streams of light fog and colorful lights. The fog turned the light into white rays that fanned the figure on the pole as they reached a lithe hand high over their head and pulled themselves up on strong, lean arms. 

Their head tipped back, blonde hair spilling over their shoulders as their legs walked up overhead, splitting into a long, straight line. Killua’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t imagine doing the splits like that, especially upside down like that whilst spinning in circles. 

He felt Chrollo’s breath on his ear, saying over the music, “Just watch for a while. I take it you’ve never set foot in a strip club, anyway.”

“Don’t be so presumptuous,” Killua huffed so he wouldn’t have to answer that. Chrollo laughed and took a sip of his whiskey as Killua nursed a Tom Collins, knowing full well that it looked like a Kiddy Cocktail. At the very least, he could drink vodka’s classy superior—gin—and come across as older than he was. 

He crossed his legs and watched through several performances with the blonde guy on the stage. Through five songs, the guy only performed one pole dancing routine. Killua wasn’t sure why he expected more, but after the fifth song, the blonde dancer went to one of the patrons who had been tipping throughout the performance. Killua watched, sipping the lasts of his drink where the cherry syrup settled at the bottom. 

The blonde guy nodded along with whatever the client was saying. Killua had already acknowledged the guy’s platform heels, but holy  _shit_ , Killua didn’t realize how tall they made the dancer until Killua saw him twisting his hair around his finger in front of a client. The dancer looked like a goddamn caucasian Amazonian. 

The dancer took something from the client and, taking the client by the hand, walked him towards the staircase that split down the middle at the far side of the room, circling up and reconnecting at the second floor of the warehouse. 

Killua pointed after them. “Where did they go?”

“VIP rooms,” Chrollo said, leaning an elbow against the back of his chair as he faced Killua. He leant in to shout over the music. “One-on-one time with the dancers. Privately, but also pricey.”

“What… do they do in there?” Killua asked, eyes wide. 

Chrollo shrugged and said, “Whatever they want—with consent, of course, on top of a hefty dollar sign.”

Killua nodded, eyes wide. He stared up at the VIP section balcony, where the blonde dancer was pulling the client through a crowd of what appeared to be a bachelor party dancing behind stained-glass windows overlooking the warehouse. 

Chrollo sighed next to Killua, and when Killua looked, Chrollo gestured to the empty stage and said, “Alright then. Up you go.”

Killua laughed. “Yeah, right,” he said, but Chrollo merely rose an eyebrow at him. He cleared his throat. “You weren’t joking. Well shit. I’ve never—”

“What, pole danced? You saw him up there. You don’t need to suspend yourself seven feet in the air to get people looking, kid.”

“I’m  _not_ a kid,” Killua seethed as Chrollo took a drink and said, “Then prove it. You get up there now or you don’t get a stage here.”

***

Now, Killua loved the warm, quivering ache in his muscles after a long night of work. He loved to feel his muscles stretch from the dense weight of his quadriceps working in harmony with his warmed and flexible hamstrings when he hugged his arm around his extended calf at eye-level. His other leg curved around the pole beneath him, stretched into an oversplit that he curved with each rotation around the pole, twirling like the stripe on a candy cane. 

He dragged one hand up through the radiant purple light that grew thick in the air where smoke curled in dense, nearly opaque stripes with the spotlights. He released his calf, bracing his dominant hand lower on the pole. With one smooth inhale, Killua put his weight onto it, his legs swinging gently in arcs behind him. 

He rotated his center of balance, twisting until his hair fell over his head, and his eyes looked out at the patrons—all upside down and watching, enrapt by the grace of every muscle in his toned body on full display. 

It took years for him to be able to do this—two years, in fact, and two years was certainly not enough to be an expert at this craft. 

It was one thing to do an oversplit, and an entirely other matter to perform a Bird of Paradise just for a couple of bucks for guys who couldn’t possibly comprehend how easy it would be for Killua to split their skulls between his thighs. 

So Killua relented at that as the song drew to a close. He’d perform a Bird of Paradise one day, just not for a crowd of horny guys. Besides, Chrollo always  _did_ say that Killua didn’t look so prim and proper in those extreme poses. Patrons weren’t looking for a powerplay. They didn’t want to know that Killua could snap their necks with his feet alone. 

Which he had thought about.

On more than one occasion.

It was late into Killua’s shift and by now, only regulars were left. Killua resumed an upright position, dragging his hands down from where they had been gripping the pole above him. He pulled his hands smoothly down from his shoulders, across the bare planes of his chest, and down to his hips as he surveyed the remaining few guys in the club watching him.

He gave a dramatic bow, laughing as they clapped. Despite the texture of the remaining powder residue on his hands, he kissed his fingers and sent them out to the customers with a smile on his lips. It was natural, now, to act fluffy on the stage.

As he stepped off of the stage with a sway in his step—mostly to avoid any  _more_ chafing—one of his first regulars was there to compliment him. “You’ve improved a lot,” he said. “You never cease to amaze me.”

“Oh, thank you. Lot of practice,” Killua said, thinking to himself,  _Maybe a bit too much_ , as he rubbed at his inner thigh. He put his hands on his hips and asked, “But enough about that—came all this way to see me, so I might as well hear about how you’ve been.”

As he listened to the guy talk, he was vividly reminded of what it was like to be on the stage for the first time. Unexpectedly, Killua had stripped down to his underwear like he was at some ridiculous frat party he never experienced before. 

That night he had pretended he was on a pool table in the middle of a house party and the entire time, that regular customer was there, looking at Killua like Killua was actually  _good at it_ . Granted, he was a shit dancer at the time, but the encouragement was enough to stroke Killua’s ego a bit and boost his confidence up on the stage. That, and also the very first tip he had ever recieved was from that guy that very same night. 

And then, that same night, he got his first VIP room booked for fifteen minutes—five songs, and private space for Killua to find out that people  _didn’t_ , in fact, have sex willy-nilly in the VIP rooms. At least, not all of the time. That night that same client made Killua feel like he had what it took to  _be_ a dancer all while making nearly five hundred bucks in just under an hour.

It was the end of Killua’s scheduled stage time, so he took to the bar with the client at his side and sat there, listening to his day, and acting like he retained a word of it. 

When the conversation lulled, Killua circled his finger around the rim of his glass. The germs didn’t bother him, not when the alcohol content would be enough to burn them all into oblivion. 

“You know, Hill,” Killua said, looking up at the client, “I still think about my first night a lot. I don’t think I would’ve kept dancing if you hadn’t… you know…”

“Bribed you into it?” Hill said, and Killua laughed with a nod. “I like amateurs.”

“Explains why you don’t stick around me anymore,” Killua teased, grinning at the cheeky way Hill looked down, lidded eyes glancing up at Killua. “I can always pretend I suck at dancing—for you.”

The guy stood with a sigh. He was still dressed in his business casual attire despite it being so late at night—or rather,  _early_ in the morning. “You’d be better off at your  _best_ , Silver. I’ll buy you a drink next time.”

Killua scoffed, leaning against the bartop as Pariston Hill left him to his own devices. He took another drink and, after polishing it off, sent it off to Leorio’s waiting hand. Along with it, he slapped down a tip for Leorio’s sake. “That’s for tonight,” Killua said. 

“Thanks man. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Nah, Saturday.”

Leorio rose an eyebrow at him. Killua rolled his eyes and gestured towards the steps, where the dancing cages were. “For the concert,” he said, begrudgingly. 

“A momentous occasion indeed,” he chimed with a hearty laugh. 

“Maybe for you,” Killua seethed, fingers clenched around the glass. “I’m dreading every second of it.”

“I seriously doubt  _anyone_ you know is gonna be there.”

“You don’t know what music liberal art kids are into, dude,” Killua said, shuddering at the thought. The only thing keeping USFC kids from this concert was likely their parental funding and country music. And since country music wasn’t on the roster, Killua had to hope and pray and make sacrifices to the gods that everyones’ parents will simultaneously collapse their children’s bridge to an excessive allowance.

_This will either be interesting or atrocious_ , Killua thought, studying the center cage that was pushed back beneath the VIP balcony. He looked over at Leorio, who wished him good luck and went back to work. 

Killua left shortly after and took a bus back to his apartment. On the bus, he pulled a makeup wipe out of the chest pocket of his coat and rubbed away at his eyelashes where clumps of stubborn mascara refused to relent during his initial face-wash at the club. He watched the black smear on his cheeks in the window reflection as street lights passed by.

At his stop, he walked to the front of the bus and stepped out onto the curb. There, he could see the roof of his apartment complex two blocks down. He stared at it as the bus drove off. He didn’t want to go to sleep, so he lingered around the neighborhood a bit in the dead of the night until he was reminded of his sore muscles and the burn on his inner thigh. By then, it was nearly three in the morning.

And, when he stood in front of the building, breath fogging in front him, he stared up at the only window in the building with the lights on: his and Gon’s apartment.

“Perfect,” Killua sighed, still just a  _little_ , teensy bit drunk from work. 

He slumped up the stairs slowly but surely, his thighs stinging every step of the way. He rubbed his sweatshirt sleeves over his eyes once more, just to check for makeup. He did this until he reached the door. 

As quiet as he tried to be, there was little that could escape Freecss’ scrutiny. When Killua snuck in and locked the door behind him, the click alerted the guy from across the apartment.

“Welcome home!” Gon chimed from the floor in the living room. 

Killua sighed, staggering over the step as he kicked his shoes off. He leant a hand to the wall and, in doing so, got a glimpse around the corner—just barely. The foyer archway frame blocked most of it, but it looked like there was a  _blanket_ on the ground.

Killua said nothing, mostly because his brain was flitting away with each second he spent vertical. By the time he came within full view of Freecss and his shitty contraption, Killua’s brain had melted all along the foyer hall and ceased to exist. 

“What… the fuck,” Killua said, dropping his keys. They clattered on the floor,  _incredibly_ loud compared to the  _incredibly_ quiet apartment. 

There, on the floor in the blank open space of the living room, there was now not only a circular carpet, but also a circular  _kotatsu_ . 

Gon leant back, peering at Killua upside down with his feet under the quilt and his hands braced behind him. Gon stretched his legs out so his toes poked out the other side and wiggled about. “What do you think?” Gon asked.

_What do I think?_ Killua thought, brainless. 

He shuffled over, silently, and went to stand on the fluffy rug adjacent to where Gon sat, their theory textbook spread out on the table in front of him.

He stared at it, sitting on the now-occupied wood flooring in view of the floor-length window overlooking the street below. Their reflection was in the window, staring at the table until Gon looked up at Killua, a nervous smile on his face, his hands braced on the carpet between his legs. 

“I got… one-day shipping,” Gon said. “If you had another plan, or a couch, or—”

Killua lowered himself down. He felt more than heard his knees creak as his thighs, knees, and calves gave out. He slumped onto the ground with a tired groan and tugged the fluffy comforter up.  _Fuck_ , his arms were shivering through the fabric of his sweatshirt. It was oh-so warm under the kotatsu, though. 

He closed his eyes and sighed again, sniffling a little as he took a deep breath to relax. With the comforter pulled up to his shoulders, Killua became content. 

“You aren’t mad?” Gon whispered. Killua peeked open one eye to glare at him. Gon swallowed hard. 

“Do yourself a favor—” Killua started. He shuffled closer to the table, to the heater beneath it, and settled back with his head on the very edge of the rug, “—and stop acting like you’re always in the wrong. You aren’t. And even if you are, you fess up  _after_ someone calls you out.”

“That’s what bad people do,” Gon grumbled.

“And do we  _look_ like bad people?” Killua said. Gon frowned down at the book, rubbing a finger over the glossy pages. “No. So don’t worry about it as long as you’re a good person.”

Gon put his forehead on the textbook and groaned. It was too early in the morning for existential bullshit. “How do I know if I’m a good person though,” he said, dragging his hands through his hair. He flopped his arms down and looked over at Killua, who was still lying on the ground, eyes closed, and hands covered beneath the kotatsu comforter. 

Gon straightened a bit. “Killua?” he said. When Killua remained about as still and silent as a rock, Gon picked up one of his pens and reached out to poke Killua in the hip. It did nothing to rouse Killua.


	7. I Will Survive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The bop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FHhZPp08s74&list=RDSZ_I0KZvezw&index=16) :D

Gon woke up the next day—or rather, that same  _morning_ —like the ghost of his former self. His brain tended to go apeshit buckwild and kicked into party mode at around two in the morning every night, so he always tried to get to bed by one at the latest (since it tended to take a copious amount of time and effort to fall asleep). And, considering Killua came back from work at three, Gon’s brain was still alive, active, and  _obsessed_ by its newest recruit: Any And All Topics To Do With Killua Zoldyck. 

“I can’t believe he took me shopping,” Gon whispered to himself several hours before he woke up, pacing his bedroom. He had all of the clothes laid out, folded neatly, and stacked into appropriate outfits. 

Gon thought this very same thing the next morning when, upon opening his eyes, he lied facing the stacks of clothes. It was the first thing he saw that morning, and while it wasn’t an unpleasant view, it certainly was alarming. 

Killua had taken him  _shopping_ . Shopping!  _Him!_

Gon sat up on the mattress, still bundled in a sleeping bag because he had been too disoriented the night before to properly make the bed. He scratched at his rumpled, black hair with a frown, a scowl, and a gruff grumble under his breath, saying, “Ridiculous.” 

He crawled out of bed, rolled across the wood floor, and picked up the first stack of clothes at his disposal. After properly dressing for the day, he made his way out of the room and acknowledged the fact that the kotatsu was empty, which meant that, at some point, Killua had woken up and went to sleep in his proper bed. 

Gon yawned, taking the steps down to the main living space with light, albeit tired, feet. By then, it was well past the morning and going on noon, which meant that he needed to kick his ass into gear and get to class. 

Gon wandered aimlessly to the bathroom door and pushed it open, blinking sleep out of his eyes. He rubbed at them as he reached for his toothbrush. He topped the bristles with toothpaste, dampened it under the faucet, and stuck it in his mouth.

There were some things that Morning Gon simply wasn’t capable of dealing with. That morning, as Gon scrubbed his teeth squeaky clean whilst half-awake and bleary-eyed, he incountered something far beyond his current level of mental capacity. Something…  _mentally scarring_ , as some might say. And while some scars could be beared proudly, this one certainly wasn’t inflicted during one of his finer moments.

Oblivious, Gon stood in front of the mirror and listened to the dreadful squeak of the shower door opening behind him.

He opened his eyes.

Through the fog in the mirror, he caught sight of a mop of messy, bleached hair blurring with the steam, visible just over Gon’s shoulder. Gon’s eyes flew open wide, all sleep gone when Killua looked up and stilled at the sight of Gon standing there, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, and eyes stuck on the dewey texture of Killua’s bare shoulders. 

Gon didn’t say a damn thing. Killua didn’t say a damn thing. The silence was palpable, like the humidity in the bathroom clinging to Gon’s rising hair folicles. 

Gon spun around, hands scrambling for purchase on the edge of the sink that dug into his lower back. Killua stared at him like some poor animal caught in headlights. 

_DON’T LOOK!_ Gon’s brain screamed, but he was already staring at It. 

“ _Get out!_ ” Killua screamed in a panic, cupping a hand over his bare crotch. 

“Shit!” Gon shrieked when Killua grabbed for a shampoo bottle and slapped Gon across the neck with it. “Sweet Mother of God! Ah! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he cried, slidding out of the bathroom with his toothbrush in hand. 

He hit the wall opposite the bathroom door at the same exact moment Killua slammed the bathroom door shut. 

Gon had never felt the beat of his heart so prominently before in his  _life_ . Each thud felt like a rock against his ribcage as his brain ran in circles around Killua’s flaccid penis. 

Meanwhile, the shadow of Killua’s feet beneath the door perfectly resembled him standing on the other side, his hands braced firmly on the bathroom door. His eyes were wide and wild and he distinctly felt the adrenaline in his system sucking the blood from his skull, leaving him  _terribly_ lightheaded. 

Killua’s shoulders slumped, gasping.  _Holy fuck_ , he thought. 

Gon spat his toothpaste out in the kitchen sink and gave his mouth a quick rinse while he tried to calm down, well,  _everything_ . Fire alarms were going off in his skull. Angry villagers with pitchforks were marching a migraine through his brain. It was only a matter of time before the world ended.

When that was done, the bathroom door clicked open. 

Gon’s shoulders tensed. He refused to look, but in the reflection on the toaster, he watched Killua’s figure glance through the foyer archway before stepping fully into view wearing nothing but a black towel around his waist.

_JESUS CHRIST!_ Gon thought, scrambling for the faucet. He poured himself another glass and chugged it as Killua took the walk of shame to his bedroom and shut (and locked) his door.

The instant the door shut, Gon put an elbow to the counter and his head in his hands. “If I wasn’t losing my mind before, I definitely am now,” he thought aloud in a whisper, frantic eyes flitting across the counter. He glanced over his shoulder at Killua’s door before shaking his head and deciding that he needed to leave  _now_ before he was stuck leaving at the same time as Killua.

Unfortunately, they both had that bright idea, so when Gon emerged dressed and sporting his backpack and sneakers, Killua did as well. They glanced at each other at the top of the steps before looking away. Killua stuck his hands in his pockets as Gon cleared his throat awkwardly and squeaked, “Morning.”

“Morning,” Killua said. 

They took a moment of silence for the passing of their sanities. 

Gon cleared his throat again. “Sorry. About…”

Killua looked to the ceiling with a sigh. “Don’t. Say a word,” he stressed, each word more painful than the last. He glanced at Gon, who looked at his feet and nodded, bashfully. 

Gon, the little shithead, was wearing an outfit he bought from Forever 21 the day before. Of course, Killua reasoned, Freecss seemed like the type of guy who didn’t bother washing his newly-purchased clothes. 

Killua sucked in a deep breath and took a step towards the exit. Gon followed suit, but not until Killua said, “That outfit looks good.”

Gon startled, eyes wide. He flattened a hand over his patterned button-up and stammered a quick, “Th-Thanks!” before bounding after Killua. He slowed at the front door, pulling out his keys as he said, “You, um, your—”

“Do me a favor and don’t compliment me,” Killua said. He glanced at Gon as he opened the front door. His eyes went down to Gon’s shirt, pants, and shoes before meeting his eyes and saying, “I was complimenting the clothes, not you.”

Killua turned away before he could see Gon’s jaw drop through the floor and all the way to China. It took a severe amount of effort, strength, and willpower for Gon to shut his mouth. When he did, all that came out was a flustered, “I—! I wasn’t going to  _compliment you!_ ” 

It wasn’t Gon’s brightest moment, by any means.

Despite that morning scare, Gon’s energy levels were inconsistent that day and only continued to plummet on the drive to class. When he came to the theory lecture hall, he was dragging his feet and dreading seeing Killua again in any capacity. Still, he was forced to endure it that day and every day after. 

As Gon settled in his seat, brain reduced to mush, he thought about Killua getting out of the shower that morning. Gon never thought to consider that the guy was fit, but holy  _shit_ , the guy had a six pack. An Honest To God Six Pack. 

Truthfully, Gon had never seen one in person. For one, high school rulesrestricted him to the women’s locker rooms, and for two, no guy in his high school was sporting anything  _but_ flat stomachs. They just didn’t train that hard for, well,  _anything_ .

_What the hell is Killua training for then?_ Gon thought, rubbing a hand over his throbbing forehead. Six packs, from what he understood, were goddamn difficult to acquire. Killua had to be visiting the gym on a daily basis to keep  _that_ up, which made Gon wonder even further. Killua was always working! How could he possibly make time for the gym?

“Maybe he’s a fitness trainer,” Gon whispered, eyes wide.  _No, that didn’t make sense_ , he reasoned. 

“Who’s a fitness trainer?” Zushi’s voice sounded beside him.

Gon startled as Zushi dropped his backpack off and collapsed into the seat next to Gon. “N-No one! I just—um, neighbor! Yeah, I’ve got a neighbor who’s, like,  _super_ fit.”

“Yum,” Zushi hummed. “Like, bulky-fit or lean-fit?”

“Lean-fit,” Gon decided, tapping a finger to his chin. “And he works really weird hours.”

“How weird?”

“Night shift?”

“Maybe he’s a night nurse.”

Both Gon and Zushi startled with girlish screams at the sound of Knuckle behind them. Gon twisted around just as Knuckle jumped the seat next to him and dropped down. 

Knuckle sighed and braced a hand on his knee, the other on the back of Gon’s chair. “I mean, for home nurses. Patients that need round-the-clock care.”

“Ooh, that’s a good theory,” Zushi said. 

“Yeah, that  _is_ a good theory…” Gon hummed, only to shake his head. “Oh, no, that doesn’t make sense. I’d be worried if he’s a nurse.”

“Why?”

“Because he seems…” Gon searched for the right word, humming the entire time. He pictured Killua eating out of a stranger’s cabinet in the dead of night like a feral animal with reflective retinas that glowed in the dark. A dreadful shudder coursed down Gon’s spine. “Chaotic neutral.”

“I can’t think of anything else. Maybe he works at a warehouse?”

“That’s less cool,” Knuckle chastised.

“It’s an honest living,” Zushi argued, and then Killua entered the room so everyone had to shut up. Killua entering the room was more effective than the professor, who had to audibly silence everyone before class could begin.

After class, it came to Gon’s attention that he had plans that weekend. When he, Zushi, and Knuckle gathered together out in the hallway, Knuckle wrangled them all together and the three of them flocked to where Uvogin was waiting just outside of the lecture hall, arms crossed and back to the bricks. 

Zushi immediately groaned, wiggling uncomfortably as Knuckle squished them all into a huddle and held Zushi fast to his side with his arms around Zushi’s shoulders. Gon laughed as Knuckle wrapped an arm around him, and, likewise, Uvogin did the same. 

“Alright, this is officially a Bros Meeting,” Knuckle said.

“ _Gross_ , ew, no, let me leave now, I beg you,” Zushi whined, writhing as Uvogin slapped an arm around Zushi’s back to keep him in. 

“Bros Meeting, dude! Bros only,” Uvogin said. “What are you to us if not a Bro?”

Zushi groaned and mumbled, pouting, “ _Fine_ , I am a bro…”

“With more  _conviction!_ ”

“ _I’m a Bro_ ! There! I said it!” Zushi cried, fake-sobbing into Knuckle’s shoulder as Uvogin chanted quietly, “One of us—one of us—one of us—” whilst parrying left and right and jostling the entire Bros Meeting to and fro. Gon couldn’t stop laughing. 

“Alright, here’s the plan,” Knuckle said, giving them all a shake. “First thing tomorrow, and by first thing I mean 8PM on the  _dot_ , we are going out  _dancing_ and  _partying_ ‘cause my favorite band is in town and they’re performing. I’ve already got five tickets so you  _four_ are coming with me.”

“Alright, I’m in,” Uvogin said. 

“I’m in, too.”

“This wasn’t up for discussion, but I appreciate your affirmation,” Knuckle said. 

“What band?” Gon asked, and before Knuckle could tell him, Zushi was saying, “I’m not convinced.”

“Fine. You’re twisting my arm here—I’m relenting. The venue’s a gay strip club,” Knuckle said, and before Gon could retract his confirmation, Zushi shrieked, “ _Ooh!_ I am  _so_ in now!”

“Wh-What do you  _mean_ , a strip club?” Gon stammered, horrified. “I’ve never even been to a  _club_ before!”

“Oh, San Fran’s got  _tons_ ,” Zushi insisted. “Usually we just go to the vanilla ones—like, the ones you’re supposed to bring your straight friends to.”

“But this is the real deal,” Knuckle said. 

Uvogin winced a little and gave Gon a reassuring pat on the back. “Trust me, we don’t make a habit of going to strip clubs. My bank account couldn’t take it.”

“Are… you guys really into that sort of stuff?” Gon asked, eyebrow raised. As soon as he said it, the Bros Meeting started to fade. Knuckle gave Gon one last pat on the back and stepped ahead, and Uvogin followed. Gon’s confidence shriveled up. Maybe he shouldn’t have questioned it. He wanted to make friends, right? But he was only eighteen! Would he even be  _allowed_ at the club?

Zushi wrapped an arm around his shoulders and said, “Dude, don’t  _worry_ about it! It’s all about, like,  _empowerment_ and  _sexuality_ and watching guys get naked on poles. Well, mostly naked. They’ve always got those thongs on so it’s not even, like,  _fully_ stripping. It’s just sort of—Yeah, okay, I’ll shut up now. But seriously, it’s  _not_ a big deal.”

Gon felt dizzy. “Aye yai yai, my aunt would have a hernia if she found out I went to a strip club,” he said. 

Zushi shrugged and said, “Get cash from an ATM today and she’ll  _never_ put two-and-two together.”

Gon sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. Uvogin and Knuckle were fooling around on the lamp post a few paces ahead, trying to see who could hold themselves up by their bare arms the best. “I don’t know… I gotta go grocery shopping this weekend so I can meal prep… This week took a lot out of me. You know I’ve been living off of Dominos Pizza all week?”

“No kidding. But I seriously doubt you’ll be  _grocery shopping_ at  _eight_ tomorrow. Just get it done in the morning, cook on Sunday!”

Gon sighed and bregrudgingly admitted that he’d at least  _try_ it.

And, so, the following day Gon woke up at exactly three in the afternoon after spending the entire previous night binging a Netflix show whilst letting his stomach slowly combust its lining due to malnutrition. He felt like the dead and acted like it when he emerged from his bedroom groaning in agony. 

Killua had spent that entire afternoon relaxing at the kotatsu sipping coffee when Gon burst in like that. He looked up and watched Gon slump to his knees at the top of the steps and collapse on his hands. 

Killua refrained from asking if everything was okay and instead sipped his coffee. In the next instant, all his questions were answered.

“I didn’t get to sleep until five,” Gon groaned, collapsing onto his side. “I’m so hungry… and tired…”

“Then you shouldn’t have gone to sleep at five in the morning,” Killua said. 

“And my friends want to go out dancing tonight, too…”

“I reiterate my previous statement,” Killua hummed against the rim of his cup. When Gon didn’t move, looking like a dead dog atop the living room stairs, Killua sighed and said, “There’s coffee in the press.”

“Oh, thank God,” Gon said, dragging himself upright. Killua had never seen hair ascend like that before in his life, but there Gon was, with a thick head of black hair sticking straight up off the top of his head with little prompting.

As Gon pulled a mug from the cabinets, he sighed, shoulders and morals slumping. He pouted a little and glanced over his shoulder at Killua, who wasn’t paying attention to him. Instead, Killua was on his computer, arms crossed beneath the kotatsu. 

Gon sighed again, this time with more gusto, and gave it a little hint of desperation that prompted Killua to glance uneasily at him. Gon rubbed a finger idly on the countertop and sighed again.

_Whatever. I guess I’ll take the bait_ , Killua thought to himself. “What’s the problem over there. You don’t like my coffee?”

“I haven’t even tried it yet,” Gon pouted, sniffing a little. 

Killua rolled his eyes. “Then what’s the fucking issue.”

Gon took his coffee with him to the kotatsu where he slumped dramatically to the floor and huffed, “It’s just—I can’t tell if I’m too prude or my friends are being too demanding of me.”

_What the fuck?_ Killua thought, raising an eyebrow at Gon. Gon needed no more prompting—he just kept going.

“We’re going to a… a  _concert_ tonight and it’s… at a place I’ve never been to before and it kinda makes me uncomfortable.”

Killua blamed his numbness to the situation on his exposure, because his stupidity was showing through. “Then don’t go.”

“But—you don’t  _get it_ . It’s hard being a transfer student,” Gon insisted. “ _Especially_ since I’m not in the dorms. And everyone’s already got their friend groups! I jumped in late. I feel like I gotta do whatever they’re doing to, like, stay  _relevant_ .”

“Well, where’s the venue?” Killua said, putting his coffee mug to his lips.

Gon sighed, looking out at the window as he said, wistfully, “It’s at this strip club called  _The Phantom_ .” 

Killua started choking immediately.

“I know! My thoughts exactly!” Gon cried, frantic. “Do freshmen  _always_ go to strip clubs?”

Killua cleared his throat before coughing into his closed fist and holding it there to his lips, eyes closed. It took several moments for him to collect himself and rasp, “ _Fuck_ no, freshmen don’t go to strip clubs.”

Gon groaned dramatically all over again, slumping against the floor. “But all my freshmen friends are going! I mean, I don’t have many friends, but  _still!_ ”

Killua wished the ground would consume him then and there and free him from this conversation so he could get his shit in order. For one, this not only confirmed that people from his class would be there, but it  _also_ confirmed that his  _roommate_ would be at his place of work— _while he was working_ . He wasn’t sure which scenario was worse. 

They were all equally damning.

Killua’s brain was running down several tracks as he thought of a counter response to Gon. He needed the cash—he knew what strippers made at concerts and that shit was  _good money_ , enough for a deposit at a new place—so he really  _didn’t_ want to bail on Chrollo tonight. So he could dig through his wig stash, maybe. He didn’t have many and it would be easier to perform stunts in a wig that fit well. His longer wigs didn’t really do it—they sometimes slipped when he wasn’t right-side up—but a longer wig would cover his face more. Maybe he could convince Chrollo to let him do crazy makeup, or maybe even wear a mask? Maybe he could convince  _all_ of the dancers to wear masks so he wouldn’t stand out—

“Say,” Gon said, breaking Killua from his thoughts. “My friend’s got five tickets and there’s only four of us. Would you wanna come with?”

“I can’t,” Killua said. 

“Oh. Working?”

_Yes_ , he almost said, but that wouldn’t give him a good enough alibi. “I’ve… got a date tonight.”

The alibi was so incredibly weird to say out loud. It went against all of his habits he constructed at work—dating meant that he made himself seem unavailable to patrons. Being unavailable to patrons made them tip him less. 

But dates felt more concrete than plans with a friend. A date was less… flexible. A date meant reservations, maybe, or going to a movie that would be out of theaters soon, or an event that was only happening  _that night_ . 

Yes, it was a good alibi. 

Meanwhile, Gon felt immensely proud that he managed  _not_ to sound dejected as he said, “Oh. That’s okay. And I know you don’t want us to, like… hang out together outside of the apartment so—”

“We aren’t even hanging out  _now_ , dude,” Killua said, voice snappier than he intended.  _Fuck, that was rude_ , Killua thought, passing a hand through his hair. He pushed away from the kotatsu and stood up, taking his laptop with him. “Have fun tonight, or whatever.”

Gon swallowed hard against the immense frustration of having such an intolerable roommate. “Okay,” he said. He watched Killua walk off before remembering his plans for that day. “Oh! Wait—I’m going grocery shopping later. Do you want me to pick you up anything, since I’ve got a car?”

Thankfully, Killua already had a list and money set aside for it. “Uh, yeah, hang on,” Killua said, already halfway to his room. He opened and shut the door behind him. After setting his laptop on his bed, he sifted through his tip money from the previous night and pulled a twenty from the pile. He wiped it down on his pant leg—not that it would do much—and took his list back to Gon.

After escaping back to his room, Killua spent a minute with his back flat against his bedroom door, heart pounding in his chest.  _Get it together_ , he told himself,  _Gon’s never even seen you naked_ .

His memory flashed back to that morning.

Killua put his hands in his hair, screaming internally.  _SHIT, HE’S SEEN ME NAKED BEFORE_ , he screamed, closing his eyes in horror. Sure, he could wear a wig and makeup, but that didn’t change the fact that Gon might recognize his body. 

How could he change  _that?_

_A tattoo_ , he immediately thought, only to curse again. He paced the room, thinking to himself about every method of tattoo he could do on short notice  _without_ it rubbing clean off on a pole tonight. 

_He only saw my front, so it needs to be on my torso or something_ , he thought, rubbing at his shirt.  _Sharpie doesn’t smear once it’s dry, right?_

He Googled it.

Sharpie wasn’t an option— _however_ , pen wasn’t a bad idea if he could find something waterproof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Killua: "I need to disguise myself."  
> Me: "You could just... call off work—"  
> Killua, a broke bitch: "I'll get a tattoo."  
> Me: "I—"


	8. Venus As A Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bros go to a rave and get wasted (jk, they're underaged) and Killua witnesses it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The bop.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Z5aPaDwAkU)

Kurapika pulled a joint from between his lips and, as white smoke drifted from between his teeth, he said, “Hold still. I’m still studying my canvas.”

“I’ll punch your teeth in. I swear to God I’ll do it,” Killua seethed, squirmy under Kurapika’s stare. “Just—Just do it. I don’t give a fuck if it looks bad. It’s just for tonight.”

“Excuse you—it’s for at  _least_ two weeks unless you plan on exfoliating your stomach off every damn day,” Kurapika said, setting the joint on the dish next to an assortment of semi-permanent tattoo pens. Kurapika held the picture up as he crawled forward on the bench until he had to drop his feet on the ground and straddle the bench, effectively straddling Killua as well.

Killua put his eyes to the locker room ceiling and swallowed hard. 

“Hold still,  _baby_ ,” Kurapika teased with a little purr that made someone laugh at the locker room doorway. Killua didn’t recognize the guy, but considering he was holding an amp, Killua assumed he was part of the band. 

“Fuck off! Don’t you have a job to do?” Killua seethed. 

“Ooh, kitten’s got claws,” the band member quipped, licking his teeth. One of his buddies pushed him along as Killua cussed him out and went back to lying on the bench, covering his hands over his nipples. 

“Just hurry up, God,” Killua huffed. 

“Give me a second. I’m relaxing so I’m not shaky,” Kurapika said, taking deep, meditative breaths as Killua laid there on the locker room bench in nothing but his sweatpants and underwear. As if he couldn’t be any more pissed at Kurapika, the idiot started humming under his breath as he dragged his hands up and down with each inhale and exhale.

As Kurapika uncapped the pen and placed the reference photo on Killua’s chest, he sang a little under his breath. As he started to punctuate dots along Killua’s would-be happy trail, he sang, “ _‘[O](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2KBFD0aoZy8)h, she’s sweet but a psycho, a little bit psy-ycho, and she’s singing oh mamai-mama-mai…_ ’”

“I don’t think those are the lyrics…” Killua sang. 

Kurapika matched Killua’s sing-songy tone with, “And you better shut the fuck up or else I’ll scribble the shit out of your stomach…”

It was a simple, minimal tattoo with delicate, fine lines and dots that accumulated into an abstract arrow pointing directly down to Killua’s dick with curved points that Kurapika said looked like, “a pair of ovaries”, which Killua punched him for. 

As they were finishing it up, some performers for that night were already gathering in the locker room. A few of them complimented Killua’s tattoo, which always prompted a snarky, unnecessary response from Kurapika along the lines of, “Yeah, you better like it, bitch. That shit’s gonna save our boy’s life tonight.” Try as he might, Killua couldn’t shut the guy up.

Among the performers, Leorio waltzed in, unannounced and unfazed by the dirty looks the dancers gave him. “I heard y’all were doing belly shots off of Killua’s abs,” he said, hands on his hips.

Killua rolled his eyes, hands fanning his stomach to dry the ink. “Right, and I’m guessing you came to get in on that action, huh?”

Leorio gave him a fake smile and said, “Don’t flatter yourself. Actually came to deliver some  _goods_ for all you beautiful bitches. Dig in.”

From the basket he set on the bench, he pulled out two massive bottles of vodka. The dancers all whooped in excitement, and Killua thought to himself,  _Thank God_ someone _came in clutch tonight_ . As he got up—albeit  _carefully_ to avoid smearing the ink—he saw the rest of the basket’s contents.

“Masks?” one of the dancers said. 

“Holy shit—Chrollo said it was okay?” Killua said, eyes wide. 

“Well,  _technically_ the  _band_ said it was okay,” Leorio said. “Sounds like masks are, like, their  _thing_ so consider these gifts from the main attraction tonight.”

Killua dug into the basket with the others. The pickings thinned out quickly, and as everyone tried them on, it became abundantly clear that no one wanted to wear the full-head masks.

Except for Killua. 

It was a blessing, truly, that the band performed in full-on helmets because holy  _shit_ , it was perfect. Killua could kiss his itchy wig goodbye at this rate. 

Kurapika strapped on a glossy, all-black mask and purred, “Ooh, kinky.” He mimicked having a whip and snapped it at Leorio, who shook out his hand as if struck. 

Killua was too busy staring at the helmet. Thank  _fuck_ for weirdly-branded bands. 

He pulled the helmet on. The visor was raised just a touch, leaving a gap for airflow—which was perfect considering how he’d be exerting himself on stage. The last thing he needed was to have his visor fog up. He knew, however, that at the end of the night, he’d be dying to get out of it. 

But it would do the trick.

* * *

Meanwhile, Gon Freecss could be found panicking after having wasted the rest of his day performing intermittent Netflix-binging with a side of Nap Time. By seven-thirty, he was in a panic trying to get ready for that night because Zushi was asking to be picked up at the dorms—along with Uvogin and Knuckle. 

“Sorry I’m late! I’m an embarrassment to humanity!” Gon cried as he waited for his friends to flock into his car. Once all the doors were closed and people were buckled up, they moved on to the venue. 

“Did you get everything done?” Zushi asked. 

Gon groaned, thoroughly embarrassed. “ _No_ . I just watched Netflix all day and slept.”

“You’re living the college dream, dude,” Knuckle said, leaning over the center console to clap Gon on the shoulder. “In other words: You’re doing it right.”

“Yeah, tell that to my stomach. I am  _only_ suffering right now,” Gon said. It took both Zushi and Knuckle to navigate them to the club where they found event parking for the low price of twenty entire dollars and their will to live. Gon paid it, pouting as he did so, knowing that the cost would be reduced to five dollars after his friends paid him back. 

_The Phantom_ was on the block of several bars and a club that stood kitty-corner to it. The sidewalk was crowded with people waiting in line, and the four of them walked down the row and along the brick wall where event posters were printed and framed down the length of  _The Phantom_ .

They reached the end of the line beneath a poster that was mounted under the glow of two spotlights that illuminated a professional photo of a guy halfway up a pole and doused in dramatic back-lighting. Gon didn’t look at it long enough to read the context. 

“You don’t think it’s gonna be, like… super  _risqué_ , do you?” Gon asked, warily as Zushi vibrated next to him, an absolute bundle of excitement.

“It  _better be_ ,” Zushi said, wiggling his bum. 

Gon rolled his eyes and reminded himself that they were here for the  _band_ , not the dancers. He made a point to catch up on their latest album—which he then processed during Nap Times—so that he wouldn’t be entirely lost that night after having his ticket scanned at the door. 

They followed after the stream of people flocking towards the main room of the warehouse: a wide open, several story-high atrium with exposed beams and an elaborate lighting systemthat had Gon hesitating at the edge of the balcony, his hands clasped together over his stomach. 

The warehouse was  _massive_ and, down the center of it, there were cages mounted on stages that separated them from the dancers. The stages glowed through the rainbow, rising up and collecting on the smokey particles in the air from where fog machines spilled white residue out onto the dance floor. 

The balcony encircled the warehouse perimeter, and from up here, Gon could distance himself from the cages. 

“This place is  _incredible!_ ” Zushi screamed, thrusting both fists into the air. “I’m living the dream, baby!”

“I second that motion,” Uvogin said. 

“It’s  _huge_ ,” Gon said, voice hoarse beneath the music playing on the speakers across the warehouse, echoing through the stream of people slowly flooding the floor below them. The crowds of people swarmed the cages with fascinated eyes illuminated under the spotlights and the glittering light underfoot. 

At the far side of the warehouse, there was an elaborate staircase that split off at the base and converged at the top, perfectly framing an inlaid cage where a set of drums was positioned for the concert. At the two points halfway up the staircase, there were dancing cages arranged with LED light pillars at each corner, and as one of the opening bands started up, dancers stepped into the cages skantily dressed and sporting masks over their faces.

Gon thought his heart might explode out of his chest. He clutched at it through the fabric of his plain white tshirt and let out a shuddered breath. He let Zushi take him by the hand and, with Zushi as his support system, they descended the stairs together to become one with the mosh pit. 

The opening cover band blasted songs from the 80s that had everyone on the floor chanting the lyrics, thrashing about under the strobe lights. The air was cold, though, despite all of the hot, sweaty bodies around them, pulsing to the music. Zushi took Gon by the hands, his figure flitting in and out of focus between bursts of vibrant, red light. 

They threw their hands up and pretended they weren’t, in fact, at a strip club. It was just a concert.

Just a concert.

The four of them bopped to the music all through the opening band and into the filler sequence of EDM rave music. Gon had never been to a rave before, so the overstimulation was spinning his head in circles and turning his brain to mush. Their voices sounded muffled in his ears over the bass. He put his hands in the air and rocked to the music with a giddy smile on his face that felt all too real in this surreal venue. 

At some point, Uvogin convinced Gon to get on his shoulders after Zushi very adamantly refused. Uvogin crouched down and, with Knuckle’s help, Gon weaseled himself over Uvogin’s back with his legs dangling off of Uvogin’s shoulders. Knuckle held Gon’s hands firmly, steadying him as Uvogin started to rise. 

Gon’s head swam with the lights that circled overhead. He swayed, laughing, as the two of them got their balance in order. He hooked his feet back around Uvogin’s broad torso as Uvogin held onto him by the knees. 

Gon high-fived people as they navigated through the crowds and called attention to themselves from across the floor. Someone threw him a necklace of festive beads, and if he wasn’t so paranoid about touching things, he would have kept them. Instead, he dropped them to the floor and rubbed his hands off on his skinny jeans. 

It wasn’t until Uvogin turned that Gon realized that he had essentially been kidnapped in order for their group to come close to one of the dancing cages. 

Gon turned and startled at the sight of a dancer directly in front of him, just beyond the stage’s metal barrier. 

Below him, Uvogin whistled and whooped a little, startling Gon all over again with the realization that he was within proximity to an actual professional  _stripper_ . 

Gon swayed back, shrieking. He floundered until he felt Knuckle’s hands on his back, steadying him. He fell into Knuckle’s arms, his legs haphazardly strewn over Uvogin’s shoulders until he more or less performed the splits to slide them off. He slumped to his feet, eyes wide and frantic. Sure, he could try to mentally prepare himself for this day all he wanted, but nothing could  _actually_ prepare him to see a guy in a g-string several feet in front of his face.

There was cash strewn across the stage, unreachable through the metal bars, and the stripper’s platform heels glided through the paper like water as they turned their back to the pole. Gon’s eyes slid up the smooth, pale texture of their calves and thighs where thick straps of black fabric plated up and around the black cup over the crotch and—

“Hoo, boy, I’m lightheaded,” Gon said, staggering a little. He put a hand to his head and turned away.

Only to turn back a whole two seconds later to eye up that navel tattoo—

“No! I can’t!” Gon cried, whipping back around and putting his blinders on (two hands on either side of his eyes like a common carriage horse). 

“No, no, you have to,” Zushi said, slapping Gon around on the arm a bit. Gon fought him off to no avail, because the entire time, Zushi was spitting truths at him that he couldn’t handle: That he thought the stripper was doing an amazing job, sweetie, and they deserved a tip for having to put up with Gon’s bullshit.

“Now I know why you made me go to the ATM,” Gon muttered as he slapped a twenty into Zushi’s hand with a huff.

Zushi slapped it right back into his hand. “You give it to them!”

“No! I don’t wanna—”

“Oi, you two, quit being a bunch of pussies,” Uvogin snapped, taking Gon by the wrist and holding it out through the bars. Gon shrieked in terror—what if there were  _booby traps?_ and he just thrust his hand into a slicer of some kind? 

Instead, before Uvogin could pinch the nerves in Gon’s wrist to get him to drop the twenty, the dancer swept down, legs  _wide apart_ , and Gon stared them right in the slick black helmet that reflected every dazzling part of that warehouse rave that Gon couldn’t see beyond the stage. Gon and Uvogin stood there like a bunch of complete dumbasses as the dancer dragged the twenty out of Gon’s fingers with nimble, calloused hands that sent shivers up Gon’s spine.

Gon couldn’t breathe for several, painful seconds when the dancer rose, turning on their heels as they went, and gave Gon and Uvogin a  _mighty_ view of their bulbous ass-cheeks.

And from that moment on, Gon refused to look at any other dancer on the floor. In fact, he refused to move. Period.

* * *

“I can’t believe you tipped that dancer, like, eighty bucks!”

“Granted, five of that eighty was from me.”

“That ten was from me.”

“ _Ugh_ , you aren’t making this any easier! Gon tipped that dancer sixty-five bucks and none of us stopped him! Isn’t that what friends are supposed to do? Stop their friends from tipping strippers more than fifty bucks?”

“I was distracted by the concert! It’s not my fault!”

Gon transcended at some point and wound up in his car, his hands on the wheel, but the four wheels outside just as stationary as his brain. He was transfixed, and every part of his mind was stuck in  _The Phantom_ wishing he had an ounce of dancing power like  _that_ . He couldn’t tell  _what_ he was: turned on, impressed, or both. Sure, he could dance, but not like  _that_ . 

Stripping was on another level he couldn’t comprehend. He couldn’t imagine being able to hoist his entire flimsy body up onto a pole like that, let alone  _flip upside down_ whilst doing so. And, sure, Gon was a trampoline master in his hayday (elementary school) but he had nothing on the stripper he just tipped sixty-five bucks to.

“Do you think we could go back sometime?” Gon asked, turning to look at Zushi, who made a point to turn once, twice, and three times to stare, dumbfounded, at Gon. 

“Did… Did you not just hear the concern in my voice? Or do I need to make it more apparent?” Zushi said. 

Knuckle shrugged in the back seat and slapped his hands down on his lap, saying, “Hey, you insisted on bringing the guy.”

Gon rolled his eyes and, as nonchalantly as he could manage, said, “I’m just  _saying_ that it was  _fun_ . I’m not saying we go specifically to  _see_ that… stripper… but just to go to  _The Phantom_ again!”

Behind him, Uvogin slapped his hand over his face. 

“Unbelievable,” Knuckle said. 

“I’m telling you! Classic case of  _Pretty Woman_ —man meets hooker, man  _buys_ hooker, man falls in love with hooker,” Zushi said. 

“I’m not in love!” Gon shrieked, voice shrill and thoroughly offended. Before they could start a toussel on the road, Knuckle cut between them, waving his hands desperately about to avoid such shenanigans from happening.

“Hey, hey, hey! Everyone, calm the fuck down! Your local voice of reason is talking here,” Knuckle said.

“ _VOICE OF REASON!_ ” Uvogin roared, laughing his ass off as Zushi screamed with laughter. The car was absolute chaos all the way to the front door of the dormitory where Gon parked, pouted, and watched his friends leave. 

After stepping out, Zushi leant back in, a hand on the open passenger door, and said, “But seriously—that  _was_ fun. Text me when you’ve made it home?”

“Yeah, sure,” Gon sighed with a light, cheerful smile. They said their farewells before Zushi shut the door and chased after Knuckle and Uvogin as the clock on Gon’s dash ticked towards midnight.

Now left alone to his thoughts, Gon’s mind was left adrift thinking about the fluid sway of the dancer’s hips like Shakira had  _nothing_ on them. This was an entirely different  _playing field_ that Gon was unfamiliar and oh-so taken with. The glamor, the outfits, the sheer  _strength_ in those muscular but lean arms. That dancer could probably snap Gon’s leg in half. 

“Are all dancers like that?” Gon wondered aloud, reminded then that he hadn’t even…  _really_ looked at the other dancers. He sighed, almost dreamily, and decided that he’d have to go back again to decide. 

Gon pulled into the parking lot behind the apartment and, after shutting his car off, remembered what he was going back to—or rather,  _who_ he was going back to.

Killua.

_Shit_ .

“He’s on a date though—how long do dates go, though?” Gon wondered, because he had never been on one.

At the exact moment Gon was walking across the parking lot, Killua Zoldyck could be seen running like a banshee from the bus stop, duffle bag askew, jacket wide open, and makeup just  _barely_ smudged off. Thankfully, their apartment window was black as the pits of Hell, so Killua could only hope and dream that Gon hadn’t come home to find Killua not there. He had a backup plan for that, though, but now it was just a matter of _beating_ Freecss there. 

As he raced through the front door of the apartment building, he cursed and cursed all the way up the two flights of stairs to his floor. “Fuck, shit, fucking hell, Jesus H. Christ—” he seethed, skidding onto the second floor with his lungs on the verge of collapsing.

He slid up to his door, keys in hand, just as he heard the back door on the first floor open. It was probably Gon, but maybe not? No, probably was Gon.

Killua flew inside, swung the door shut, and locked it. Panting, he waited, tense as hell and eyes wild with panic. He started to take off his boots, and as soon as he started, he flew through them and kicked them to the side just in time for Gon to put his keys into the door and start turning. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Killua cursed under his breath. He flung open the laundry door, threw his duffle in, shut it, and skidded into the bathroom before Gon could see him. 

Gon stepped into the pitch-black apartment just as hesitant as Killua, but for different reasons. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect—How long did dates go, and would Killua bring his date through their apartment? He wasn’t sure why Killua  _would_ , considering all the fuss he made about having a roommate.

Internally, Gon felt self-conscious about dating when he had a roommate around to worry about. He wanted to respect Killua’s boundaries, dammit! Did that mean he just…  _wouldn’t_ be able to bring his dates over?  _Would_ Gon even date?

“Of course I’ll date,” Gon reasoned under his breath as he sat on the step and peeled his shoes off. “I’m a handsome young man.”

Behind the bathroom door, Killua had his ear to the door and bit his lip, thinking,  _What the fuck is this guy on?_ It didn’t concern him, so he flicked on the bathroom light and got a frightening view of his racoon eyes in the mirror. He startled with a gasp, heart nearly escaping through his ribcage.

“Jesus  _Christ_ Almighty,” he huffed, a hand over his chest. He reached for his supply of cotton balls and (discrete) makeup remover in the medicine cabinet. 

Gon shuffled down the foyer hallway, his feet passing through the stretch of light from underneath the bathroom door. That confirmed that Killua was home, but did  _not_ confirm who was or wasn’t in Killua’s bedroom.

Gon hesitated in the living room, his eyes on Killua’s door. He wanted to know… but no, he shouldn’t. But should he? “No, definitely not a good idea,” he told himself, crossing his arms resolutely. He would not sneak into Killua’s room just to see, just to take a peek. Today was  _not_ his day to die. 

Gon started towards his room, only to hesitate again. 

“Just  _one_ peek,” he whispered. “Just open the door, just a crack, that’s it.”

The living room light flicked on. “What’re you muttering about.”

Gon yelped and spun around to where Killua was standing with a hand on the light switch, the other on his hip. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants that sagged around his ankles and a plain hoodie but somehow managed to look  _stellar_ in it. 

“I, um, nothing,” Gon lied, clasping his hands behind his back. “Just got back.”

“So it seems,” Killua huffed. Gon’s wide, childlike eyes were still stuck on him as he went to the kitchen. It reminded him too much of the wonderment Gon displayed during the main, hour-long event at  _The Phantom_ . He would have had to have been  _blind_ to not see Freecss standing there the whole damn time.

And his wallet was proof enough of Freecss’ stupidity. 

Killua’s cheeks flushed as he opened the fridge and ducked down, out of view. He paused at the sight of the mostly-empty fridge. 

“How was… your date?”

_Oh, fuck, I said I was on a date_ , Killua realized. “Fine. Did you go grocery shopping?”

Gon’s cheeks turned red in an instant. “Uh, not yet, sorry. I’m gonna go tomorrow morning.”

Before Killua could admit to wanting to go with, he caught sight of Gon staring at him. Killua never straightened himself so fast in his life. Fuck, could he not do squats anymore, or would that just remind Gon of who he stared at the entire damn concert?

A headache was coming on like a goddamn semi off the guardrails. 

Killua massaged his temples as Gon asked, “Is your date here or…?”

“No. I told you, I’m not bringing people through here and you shouldn’t either,” Killua said. 

Gon put his hands up in surrender. “Alright, I won’t. Geez.”

Killua sighed and dropped his hands, saying, “Do you still have that twenty I gave you? I might as well just come with you to get my own groceries.”

Gon grimaced and Killua thought to himself,  _Well, I guess he did give it back to me_ .

“I…  _might_ have used it at the strip club. But I can just cover twenty dollars of groceries for you! I just—I only brought cash with me and the twenty was part of it—”

“Dude, it’s fine,” Killua said, and when Gon visibly sighed, shoulders slumping with relief, he added, “And by the way: Twenty is  _way_ too big a tip for a stripper. Just saying.”

Killua started towards the foyer archway and hesitated when Gon leapt at the chance to start a conversation over that. Killua shut his eyes and cursed internally as Gon said, “Really? How much are you supposed to tip them?”

Killua put a hand to the archway and resisted the urge to slap a hand over his face.  _Stupid_ . Not only that, but he could hear Gon’s footsteps hurrying after him as he reached for the laundry door. He opened the laundry door, blocking Gon’s passage through the hallway, or his view of Killua’s lingerie dufflebag. 

“I don’t know. Like, a dollar per song? If you’re forking out twenty bucks, that’s asking for a lap dance or some shit,” he said as he ducked down to the washing machine and started shoveling his lingerie into a mesh bag and tossing it in. 

“Oh, God, really? But I never got a lap dance—”

“It was a  _rave_ , dude. There… probably weren’t chairs around. And maybe the dancer couldn’t leave the stage? I don’t know.”

On the other side of the door, Gon bit his lip, grimacing a little as he thought of the sixty-five dollars he was short of. He tucked his hands together behind his back, scuffing his feet on the wood flooring. “What if I… hypothetically speaking, what could you get with, like… sixty bucks?”

Killua could have bashed his head into the washing machine, but somehow managed to avoid doing so. He sighed through his nose and told himself that he was doing the Lord’s work by shattering Gon’s naiveté. 

“You could get a private showing with that,” he said.

The instant Killua said it, though, Gon’s brain was running wild. How did Killua know this much?  _Only one way to find out_ , he thought just before asking, “How come you know so much about strip clubs?”

After a beat of silence, Gon heard the machine door shut. “Common sense,” Killua said, and a moment later, the machine began to hum. 

Gon didn’t question it—though he should have, because no more than two paces away from him sat a washing machine full of lingerie that he would have recognized in an instant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gon: "A date? What's that? Is it a synonym for a hookup?"  
> Killua, on the verge of tears: "Just shut the fuck up. Please don't go to a strip club again—specifically MY strip club."


	9. Don't Go Breaking My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Bop.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TolSJT-tRoU&list=RDQAo_Ycocl1E&index=8)

**G** on’s exhaustion from the concert put him to bed at a decent hour, and woke him up at the semi-reasonable hour of ten in the morning. Killua was already awake, and when Gon stepped out into the open, Killua wouldn’t have noticed were it not for the fact that Gon was wearing the sweatpants Killua had suggested he buy at Forever 21. 

Killua turned away with a roll of his eyes, thinking,  _Damn, I know this guy’s whole wardrobe now_ , and decided that it was annoying. 

They left for Aldi’s before both of them could be consumed by homework. Gon manned the cart while Killua wandered aimlessly through the aisles, disappeared, and reappeared only to drop something off in the cart. Each time, Killua found Gon in the produce section fondling fruits and vegetables. 

“Dude, are you gonna spend an hour poking mangos? Get a move on,” Killua said.

“It’s serious stuff!” Gon insisted. He noted the egg carton Killua put in the cart and asked, “Did you check to see if the eggs are cracked?”

Killua stilled, cursed, and reluctantly went to the carton. He flipped it open, judged from the surface, and shut the carton. “They’re fine. Just get the damn mango, dude. We don’t have all day.”

Gon shrugged and said, “Geez, alright, I’m getting the mango.”

Gon stocked up on cooking supplies and large vegetables that took up an obnoxious amount of space in the cart. He obtained the largest bag of corn tortillas imaginable on top of rice and pinto beans, which Killua eyed suspiciously as they stacked their items onto the conveyer belt to the cash register. 

True to his word, Gon paid for half of Killua’s groceries, which Killua found hilarious in the sense that the twenty he gave Gon was now being used to pay for the other half of his own groceries.

They kept to themselves during the trip, for the most part, which meant that the drive was quiet and contemplative. Killua spent the entire time inadvertently assessing Gon’s driving skills, which resembled an elderly lady who was not only cautious, but also spoke to herself. The idiot wouldn’t shut up during the entire drive, and it was all narration of events that Killua found mediocre at best. “No, after you, good sir. This is a four-way stop and you stopped first so after  _you_ .”

Killua was more than ready to eat a fuck ton of bread once they got back to the apartment, but before he could do that, he became aware that Gon was  _actually_ going to cook.

And low key… Killua wanted in on that. 

It started with Gon pulling out a pot the size of Chewbacca, which Killua had seen in the pantry and wondered what the hell could be cooked in  _that_ aside from a full-grown toddler. Killua stood near his bedroom door, a slice of bread in his mouth, and his free arm folded over his stomach as he watched Gon whistle to himself as he filled the pot with water and poured an entire bag of pinto beans into it. 

Killua tipped his head to the side as Gon then poured a bag of pinto beans into a bowl of water. When Gon glanced back at Killua’s room, though, Killua had disappeared behind his bedroom door. 

Killua gathered his books for class and took them with him to the living room. By then, Gon had all of the spices he had just bought out on the counter and could now be found peeling the protective covers off of each and every one of them whilst singing  _Don’t Go Breaking My Heart_ under his breath, fully thinking Killua was still in his bedroom. 

Killua sat at the kotatsu with his back to the windows so the overcast could illuminate the pages of his text book. He propped it silently up on the table, his legs crossed beneath the comforter. He glanced up to where Gon was now dumping a smattering of spices into the pot.

Gon took out the packaged meat from the fridge along with a cutting board from the cabinet next to the microwave. Killua grimaced a little. He hated the texture of raw meat and therefore never considered cooking with it, which meant that he didn’t generally  _eat_ it. But there Gon was, slapping it onto the cutting board like it was no big deal. 

The previous semester, Killua had a dining hall pass, and before that, he had a professional chef to cook for him at the Zoldyck estate. And now, on his own, he couldn’t even make boxed mac ’n’ cheese on his own without second guessing every move. 

It was fascinating to see someone his age cook like he’d been making his own meals since he was three.

Gon knew just how to cut the meat, how to season it, and how to treat the pan before grilling it. Soon, the aroma spread through the apartment and Killua found himself oozing with it, his unsatiated hunger yearning for whatever it was Gon was sizzling on the stove. Killua slumped, breathing it in with closed eyes until the exact moment he sensed Gon looking back at him. 

Killua went back to his textbook in an instant. 

“Do you eat meat?” Gon asked.

Killua snorted, flipping the page. “Is this a bi joke or…?”

Gon rolled his eyes and glanced back at Killua, saying, “ _No_ , I’m just wondering if you’re vegetarian.”

“Then the answer’s no, I’m not vegetarian,” Killua said, but that didn’t mean he went out of his way to eat meat. The same sentiment applied to his lovelife.

Sometime in the afternoon, a plate was pushed across the table to where Killua’s books were. 

Killua looked up from it and to Gon’s cheeky smile. Killua reached hesitantly for the fork and said, “Thank you…”

“No problem,” Gon said, and went back to the stove. 

He put his back to Killua, and while he wasn’t looking, Killua speared a bit of chicken. He looked up and froze upon catching Gon glancing at him from over his shoulder. Gon turned away, grinning to himself. Killua popped the food into his mouth and, Jesus Christ on a ten speed bike, that shit was  _fire_ .

Monday came quickly and by morning, Gon’s meal prepping was complete and organized within a multitude of stacked containers in the fridge. Killua opened the fridge that morning not expecting there to be a brick wall of containers on the second shelf. 

Gon pranced out of the bathroom, his shower having dampened his hair’s gravity-defying tricks. Killua glanced back at him before reaching to the box on his shelf—the first shelf—where Gon had put a sticky note on top with Killua’s name on it. 

Gon disappeared into his bedroom to change and when he came back to pack up for the day, Killua was already gone, and as was Killua’s share of Gon’s food. It was his proudest moment in San Francisco, by far. 

Gon hurried on, grabbing his backpack, jacket, and shoes on the way out. He slipped his sneakers on in the hallway, locked the door, and was on his way to lecture where he found Knuckle and Zushi already chatting in the middle seats of the lecture hall. 

Gon hurried up and down the aisle where he dropped down beside Zushi and declared, “We need to go back to  _The Phantom_ .”

Zushi opened his mouth to argue, but Knuckle was already saying, “Agreed.”

Zushi threw his hands down in frustration. “Both of you—We don’t have the  _time_ or the  _money_ to be going to strip clubs every weekend.”

Gon groaned, slumping dramatically in his seat. He couldn’t stop thinking about the dancer he and spent all night staring at. Not only that, but he couldn’t stop dreaming about getting a lapdance ever since Killua declared that twenty could get him as much. 

“But we’d be able to  _interact_ with the dancers if we went on a night there isn’t a concert,” Knuckle explained to Zushi, but Zushi’s wallet wasn’t hearing any of it. 

Gon grumbled to himself and thought about everything else that frustrated him, like the fact that Killua had scored a date.  _Gon_ wanted a date. He came to San Francisco with the ideal image of a bachelor pad in his head. The very least he could do was score a  _date_ . 

Gon threw his head back and groaned. “I just want a boyfriend. Zushi—help me,” he whined, flopping a hand onto Zushi’s arm, desperate for contact.

“You both are such high maintenance,” Zushi chastised. He gestured wildly and said, “And  _clearly_ , the way to get a boyfriend is to get Tinder.”

“Cripes! Why didn’t I think of that!” Gon cried, his brain suddenly on fire. He needed to make a Tinder profile  _immediately_ . The state of his love life depended on it. It was such an obvious solution, Gon wanted to hit himself for not considering it sooner.

Knuckle reached across Zushi to start slapping Gon in the leg, saying, “Download the app! Download the app!” to which Gon replied in a frenzy, “I’m doing it! I’m doing it!” 

He weaseled his phone out of his coat pocket and, upon downloading the app, became the center of attention in his small friend group. Knuckle leant obnoxiously over Zushi’s lap as Zushi propped his head on Gon’s shoulder and watched him type in his email to create a new account.

As they waited for the professor to show up, they populated Gon’s dating profile with a prime selection of photos from Seattle Pride, a photo from his old community college—before shit hit the fan, so he looked fine—, and a photo from when he and Aunt Mito visited San Francisco when touring colleges. They put the Pride photo up first. 

After polishing up his preferences, Gon’s profile was ready for the masses. He brimmed with eager energy, toes curling with excitement, and hands jittery like he just consumed an espresso.

The first profile dropped onto his plate, and Gon thought he might have a heart attack. It constantly blew his mind that there was an app out there that could connect him to people as beautiful as  _this_ . 

Gon slapped a hand over his heart and said, “I need to swipe right. I need to.”

“It’s your first guy!” Zushi cried, alarmed. “There’s plenty of fish in this sea, dude.”

“I’m swiping right,” Gon whispered, breathless, as he swiped right. He was shot in the heart again when the next person proved to be just as handsome as the last. Gon slid in his seat, fake-swooning. 

Zushi turned to Knuckle. “He’s hopeless.”

“He’s got game,” Knuckle insisted.

“He hasn’t even  _matched_ yet—” Zushi said, just as Gon got a notification that he had, in fact, matched with his first pick. As Gon opened up their DMs, Zushi murmured, “Well shit.”

Gon tapped in a “Hey” accompanied by a smiley face. He sent it before Zushi had a chance to object. Zushi put his head in his hands and reiterated the fact that Gon was hopeless.

Luckily, the guy texted back. Zushi popped up. At that same moment, however, the professor walked in, and he could only watch in horror as Gon conducted his first ever Tinder conversation in silence in the middle of the goddamn lecture hall. The entire time, Gon had a cheeky smile on his face because holy  _shit_ , someone  _matched_ with him!

They scheduled to meet that following day. When Gon brought this up to Zushi and Knuckle after class, Knuckle said, “Nice, dude!” while Zushi put his forehead to the brick wall and groaned, “That isn’t how Tinder works…”

Gon put his hands on his hips. “Well, it’s easier to get to know someone in person! And texting kinda makes me nervous anyway. Face-to-face is my kind of deal.”

“Yeah, that’s great and all, but what if this guy’s a serial killer?” Zushi said. “You’d see the flags in a text conversation.”

Knuckle hummed. “To be fair: You’d also see them in person.”

“Yeah, when the guy takes a knife to your throat,” Zushi seethed, jabbing at Knuckle, who leapt out of the way and directly into Uvogin.

“Whoa, hey, what’d I miss?” Uvogin said. 

Gon jolted when Zushi grabbed him forcefully by the shoulders and shook him with emphasis, foaming at the mouth as he cried, “This man right here just scored a date and I don’t know how to feel about it—!” He cut off into a scream that reverberated down the hallway and startled a few very alarmed students leaving the lecture hall—include… Killua Zoldyck.

They all froze. 

Killua rubbed at his ear and kept walking without making eye contact. Zushi’s entire face became the color of a fire hydrant, his hands still clinging to Gon to keep him from fainting out of pure humiliation. 

Gon felt as though he might throw up. Emphasis on  _might_ .

When Killua left the building, Zushi put his head to Gon’s shoulders and whispered, “Kill me now, I beg you.”

“I gotta admit—that was pret-ty hilarious,” Uvogin said, which earned him a punch from Knuckle, who said, “Tone it down, dude. Our buddy is suffering here.” 

Uvogin put his hands up in surrender. Zushi fake-sobbed into Gon’s arms and Gon gave him a hesitant pat on the back for comfort’s sake.

The instant Killua left the building, he let out a breath of relief. So far, it seemed, no one had detected the truth behind his association with Freecss, but that was difficult when Freecss had essentially befriend the three friendliest people in the class. Everyone knew Zushi, Knuckle, and the track star Uvogin and, by association, they now knew Freecss. Killua didn’t need that spotlight on him when he already had one on stage.

However, because Gon was now effectively integrated into their major, it meant that Killua heard his name every now and then in the second semester courses that Gon had yet to be enrolled in.

Killua glanced back at the door with a scoff and thought,  _Sounds like that nerd has a date_ . Everything that had to do with dating had Killua’s brain navigating back towards fashion. He wondered what outfit Gon would decide to wear for his date.

Or if he’d ask Killua for help deciding.

Killua shook the thought from his head and passed a hand through his hair. He glanced down the road where, at the bus stop, that blonde journalist bitch was staring at him. She tensed, eyes wide, and offered a meager wave when she realized that Killua was, in fact, watching her. 

_Everyone seems to think I’ve got a significant other after she spread that picture around_ , Killua thought. He was grateful Kurapika had the fashion sense of Marceline the Vampire Queen—a perfect disguise, but still, he couldn’t risk people following him to Kurapika’s car on a day Kurapika decided  _not_ to dress like a celebrity in public. 

He started towards Retz. She blushed as he approached, and it took only a few seconds before the red in her ears to flush through her entire face.

“K-Killua, hey,” she said.

He considered asking her to delete the photo, but the damage was already done. Asking her to stop following him just suggested that he had an end destination he didn’t want her to know.  _Fuck_ , there weren’t many options that  _didn’t_ seem suspicious or tantilizing to a journalist like her. 

“Are… you waiting for the bus too?” she asked, and Killua realized that he had been standing in silence for a second too long.

Killua licked his lips and looked away. “No. I just wanted to ask you to stop taking pictures of me without my consent,” he said. 

She barely missed a beat. Barely. “They’re just photos.”

They  _were_ just photos, but it wasn’t like Killua could suddenly make the argument that he made money off of his body, and pictures counted in that. 

“Yeah, well, I just don’t like thinking about people getting off to them,” he said. He would give an arm and a leg to  _not_ be so awkward outside of the club, but there he was, grimacing in disgust like a prude.

Retz blinked, stammered, and floundered for a proper response. She scratched at the back of her head, cheeks still bright pink. “I see you think… pretty highly of yourself.”

“You must too, if you’re taking pictures of me.”

“Th-Those weren’t for me!” she cried, waving a hand quickly. Killua rose an eyebrow. Her hands slumped to her sides. “You know how it is, being a creator and all. I write about what people want to read. If I didn’t do that, I wouldn’t have a readership.”

“Then I would politely like to ask you to stop depending on me for your readership,” he said.

Retz swallowed hard. Speechless, she nodded, and Killua let out a sigh of relief. He muttered his thanks, and it came out gruff and sarcastic as he walked off in the direction of his bus stop several blocks down. It was Monday and he wasn’t on the schedule to clean the club, so it was a precious night off for him to relax at the apartment. And, as it turned out, the stages were filled the following day so Tuesday was another Phantom-free night.

Before that could be set in stone, however, Killua’s phone rang as he waited for his bus. He pulled it from his coat pocket, shuddering against the Pacific wind, and squinted at Kurapika’s name on the screen. 

He answered it. 

“Hey—”

“ _An early slot opened up tomorrow night_ .”

Killua rolled his eyes. “Is this your passive-aggressive way of saying you’re bailing tomorrow night.”

“ _Of course not. When have I ever done that._ ” 

Killua laughed. “Right now, for example.” He leant over, peering around the block. Retz was still waiting at the other stop a block down, and it relieved him that she managed to listen to him. “But yeah, I’m in. I need the cash, anyway.”

“ _Perfect. I’ll let Satan know_ ,” he said, and hung up. 

Even though Tuesday was no longer a night off, today was. Because of this, when Gon returned home, Killua was already locked away in his room catching up on sleep. Gon padded slightly through the fading light in the living room and, in his own room, was reminded of how pleased he was that he had a place of his own. 

Despite having a roommate, Gon felt pride swell in his chest. He was a step closer to being an adult. He felt more accomplished than he had in years, and as he melted into the covers on the mattress he bought, he fell asleep with a smile on his face and his phone in hand. 

The content on his phone remained on the tip of Gon’s brain from that moment and on through the morning. He woke up grinning like an idiot and all but pranced across the apartment to the bathroom where he twirled inside and shut the door. 

It was hard to miss Gon’s makeshift ballet display, especially when Killua was sitting right there at the kitchen table. After catching wind of the muffled sound of the showerhead, Killua picked up the tell tale sound of Gon singing in Spanish to himself behind the closed bathroom door. 

_Weird_ , Killua thought, pulling a foot up onto the chair. He hugged his arm around it and went back to finishing off his abysmal breakfast. 

When Gon finished up in the bathroom, Killua was busy cleaning dishes in the kitchen. He glanced over his shoulder and startled at the sight of Gon in nothing but a towel. 

Gon let out a high-pitched shriek. “Don’t look! Don’tlookdon’tlookdon’tlook!” he cried, and Killua would laugh if Gon wasn’t so mortified. He put his blinders on (his hand) and turned back to the sink. Shortly after shutting himself up in his room, Gon emerged again saying, “Okay, now you can look.”

“I swear to God, if you’re naked now—”

“This isn’t a rated R film, Killua! I need help deciding if this is… a good outfit.”

Internally, Killua gave himself a highfive for predicting this moment nearly twenty-four hours in advance. He reached for the dish towel and dried his hands as he tipped back against the countertop and checked out Gon’s outfit for the day. 

Gon was stiff and awkward and blushing up on the platform that separated their bedrooms from the living space. He was wearing a pair of grey, plaid slacks with one of his old black graphic rock tees tucked into the waistband.He tucked his hands behind him, fidgeting with his fingers as he waited for the consensus. 

“Yeah, that works,” Killua said, and Gon let out a sigh of relief. Before he could convince himself to prompt Gon into mentioning the date, Gon was already bringing it up as a cheeky smile donned his lips and he twirled down the steps. 

Gon skipped to the refrigerator and, grasping the door handle, sort of swooned against it. “The reason I ask is… because… I sort of have a date tonight?”

Killua took a sip of his coffee and said, “Oh.”

“Yeah…” Gon sighed, dreamily. He fetched a container from his meal prep stash and shut the refrigerator door. He leant against it as he said, “He’s  _really_ cute.”

Killua looked away and raised an eyebrow. “Oh really.”

“I met him on Tinder—here, I’ll show you his profile,” Gon said, suddenly eager to show off his date like a trophy. Killua entertained it because he found Gon’s attitude hilarious. The guy reaked with Freshmen Energy and he couldn’t help but laugh internally about it. 

Gon leant over, holding his phone up, and Killua took his sweet time sliding his eyes over as Gon flipped through several pictures of—

Killua’s heart plummeted. It shot straight through his stomach and out his ass where it melted the kitchen tiles like acid on its way to Hell. He wouldn’t survive much longer, not when Gon was throwing him curveballs like this that felt like a suckerpunch to the chest. 

“K-Kurapika,” Killua whispered, and to his dismay, Gon was a lovesick fool.

“I  _know_ . It’s such a cool name…” he sighed, dreamily.

Killua stared at him in horror, but Gon was too busy fawning over that rat bastard’s Tinder profile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gon emerging from the shower and screaming when someone looks at him?? Based on real life events.
> 
> Also there won't be any Kurapika x Gon scenes in case yall are worried. I'm just here for [the memes](https://killugon-memes.tumblr.com/) lol


	10. Smells Like Teen Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killua's got a situation at hand that requires potential damage control. Gon doesn't know what he's getting into because, while his ass might be flat, he comes equipped with the world's largest dumbass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Bop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hTWKbfoikeg).

**K** illua was beyond desperate. He was so desperate, in fact, that he nearly got Kurapika on the phone to call off the date. Logic caught up to him fast, though. If he did that, he was just admitting to Kurapika that he  _knew_ Gon, and that Gon had the potential to ruin his life. He wasn’t quite sure  _what_ Kurapika would do with that information, but it couldn’t be good.

And now he had a stage that night, all thanks to Kurapika bailing for the date. 

_I need to bail, too_ , he realized. How could he work when Kurapika was off on a date with his  _roommate?_ Kurapika! God, Killua wanted to punch him in the nuts so badly. Instead of doing that, he called up dancers who had contracts with Chrollo and tried to get one to cover for him. 

He spent the morning on his way to class making calls and borderline-begging for someone to fill his stage. When that was sorted out, he called up Chrollo to confirm the changes.

“Hey, just wanted to let you know that I won’t be filling Kurapika’s stage tonight,” Killua said, and gave the name of the dancer who  _would_ be filling the stage.

Chrollo sighed and said, “ _Alright, I’ll put it on the schedule. You two really have to stop giving me the run-around on this shit._ ”

“Hey, I  _rarely_ ask off,” Killua insisted, and he could practically  _hear_ Chrollo rolling his eyes. “And if anything you can thank Kurapika for this. That rat bastard is going on a date with my roommate so I gotta be on high alert.”

“ _Well, have fun with that. I’ll see you tomorrow,_ ” Chrollo said, and hung up.

Killua put his phone in his lap, relief lulling through him on the bus seat. His expectations for that day had dramatically shifted, and it left his brain exhausted before the day could begin. 

Killua sat through studio with his eyes trained on his professor. Every so often, his scowl unintentionally gravitated towards the back of Gon’s head. He wanted to throw something at him. Maybe a pen? Killua wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he was so damn pissed that Gon was even  _into_ 22-year-olds. Why did Gon set his Tinder age-range to 22? 

For a brief stint there, Killua  _had_ set his Tinder to 22… Maybe a 22-year-old had a full-time job! It’d be great if he didn’t have to pay for dates, if he was being honest… But that didn’t change the fact that they were freshmen and Kurapika—were he in university—would be graduating. 

Killua shook his head. It was hypocritical of him to scorn Gon for this when he, himself, had a crush on Kurapika no more than a year ago. 

Studio ended, and Killua didn’t realize it until he saw Gon packing up. Killua hastily slung his backpack over his shoulder and stood, keeping Gon’s spikey black hair at the corner of his eye. He followed at a great distance—at least half of the class between them upon exiting—and continued at that distance out of the building and down the sidewalk. 

Gon was walking with Knuckle, who had the build of a goddamn gymnast—stocky, buff, but with a narrow waist and, oddly enough, defined calves. It was easier, though, to keep his eyes on Knuckle since the guy stood a whole head taller than Gon. 

At the lights, Gon paused to wait for the crosswalk and waved farewell to Knuckle, who slapped him on the back. Killua heard the distant, “Good luck on your date!” before Knuckle jogged off towards the USFC track arena. 

Killua slowed at the corner of the street. They were across the road from the parking structure, just a block away from his bus stop, and Killua cursed internally. Gon had a car. Killua couldn’t follow Gon in a car—unless—

Gon let out a startled scream, slapping a hand to his chest. Killua looked at him as Gon gasped out, “God, you scared me. I didn’t know you were standing there.”

Killua huffed and glared down the sidewalk, back in the direction of the studio building. Their classmates weren’t around, but there were plenty of sophomores and juniors lingering at this time of day. 

They waited in silence. Gon picked at his nails, anxiously, as the adjacent walksign ticked 3… 2… 1…

They started to cross. 

Gon glanced hesitantly at Killua before skipping ahead—Killua  _had_ said that he didn’t want to be seen with Gon, so Gon decided to respect that boundary. He walked ahead at a brisker pace, and Killua followed at his heels. When two footsteps echoed in the concrete structure, Gon glanced over his shoulder and found Killua a few paces back, arms crossed, annoyed. 

Gon hurried a little more. He reached his car at a jog, and after ducking into the driver’s seat, Gon put his head to the wheel and thought about how, the last time he had seen Killua in the parking structure, Killua had been spotted pulling a cigarette out of the mouth of some attractive stranger.

_Maybe he’s seeing that person again?_ Gon wondered. He gasped a little, bolting upright.  _Maybe his date the other night was_ with _that person!_

The passenger door opened. 

Gon froze in fear of a complete stranger hopping into his vehicle, only to relax when he recognized Killua’s bleached hair. The instant he let his guard down, though, he was squeaking again at the realization that Killua was  _in his car_ . 

“Wh-What are you doing!” Gon cried, heat blooming in his cheeks. “I-I thought—um—you said—”

“You’re going to the apartment, right?” Killua said, and if Gon wasn’t, Gon felt like Killua might maim him. He would have lied and said he was, if that was the case.

“Y-Yeah—”

“Same. Might as well drive me there, too,” Killua said, and punctuated the statement by buckling his seatbelt. Killua was supremely relieved that Gon was even  _going_ back to the apartment. The situation would have been  _far_ more awkward then. 

Killua crossed his arms as Gon set the car in reverse and backed out of the spot, a slim smile on his lips. In his triumph, Gon couldn’t hold back the shiteating grin on his face. Killua wanted to carpool from campus and by God, Gon would deliver.

“So…” Gon started, a pleased hum in his voice. “How’s your day?”

“We’ve literally had the same day so far.”

“But, like… do you work tonight?”

“Yeah, I work tonight,” Killua lied. 

“You never mentioned where you work—”

“I work at a bar,” he said, and it was as close to the truth as he could get. 

Gon wanted to slap himself. A bar!  _That_ was why Killua had such weird hours! He’d have to report back to Zushi and Knuckle and offer it as a suggestion for Killua’s place of work. Here he had been picturing Killua in scrubs working a night shift at a retirement home. 

“As, like… a bartender?”

“Why’re you so interested?” Killua said, and Gon shrugged. 

“I don’t know. I mean, we  _live_ together. I guess I should know a bit about you.”

“Yeah, well, I could say the same for you,” Killua huffed, and Gon wondered if the guy was  _serious_ about that. He blushed, just a little, and it was quickly stamped out by Killua muttering, “Definitely not interested to know, though.”

“Geez, okay,” Gon grumbled as he made a right turn down their street. “If you ever  _do_ want to know—about me, I mean—I’m an open book. Just ask.”

“I won’t,” Killua said. He glanced at Gon and said, “Ask, I mean.”

Gon’s shoulders slumped. He felt like a slug. “No need to be mean about it…” he said. 

He pulled the car into the lot behind the building and, once there, parked the vehicle and shut the car off. Gon was busy fetching his guitar from the back seat, so Killua beat him to the door and didn’t hold it for him. Gon ran up to the door just as it shut and locked, and Gon groaned furiously—wasn’t it common courtesy to hold doors for the next person? 

Gon wrestled with the keys in his pocket, juggling his backpack in one hand and his guitar case in the other, just before the door peeked open. Gon grabbed the handle viciously and swung the door open. Killua turned away, looking like a smug cat after having knocked something off of the counter.

“That was evil of you,” Gon commented.

“I like to keep people on their toes,” Killua said.

As they walked up the two flights of stairs, Killua considered what the odds were that Gon would be taking off in his car again. He supposed he  _could_ order an Uber and attempt to follow him, but that required too much coordination. Instead, he decided on an alternative course of action.

He waited for Gon to open the door to the apartment, since the guy already had his keys in hand. He leant his shoulder against the wall, crossed his arms, and said, “So where are you and Kurapika going for the ‘date’.”

Gon rolled his eyes and mimicked Killua’s air-quotes. “There’s no  _‘date’_ about it. This is a real, honest-to-God, Date.”

“Whatever.”

“And I think we’re going to the movies. Avatar II is playing,” he explained, and waltzed inside. Killua got his phone out and started researching movie theatres in the area. “But Kurapika lives sorta close to here so he’s stopping by real quick. I won’t bring him into the apartment, though! I swear—”

Killua startled at the absurd plan Gon and Kurapika came up with. It was one thing to organize something like this with  _Kurapika_ , but had Gon met with a complete  _stranger?_ Killua didn’t want to even consider it.

“Okay, no, dude—you can’t just  _give your address out_ to first dates on Tinder,” he said as he slipped his shoes off in the entryway. Gon pouted at him from the foyer archway, slipping his bags off of his shoulders.

“He doesn’t know our  _apartment number_ ,” Gon reassured him, but Killua just shook his head.

“Number one rule of dating on Tinder: Let someone know where you’re going, when you get there, and when you leave. This is basic shit, dude,” Killua said, and Gon groaned and relented. 

Gon left to his room as Killua migrated back to the kotatsu. He sat in his favorite spot—with his back to the window, so when the sun  _did_ decide to show itself, it warmed his back while his legs were made toasty under the comforter. 

He certainly didn’t expect Gon to come out with a slip of paper detailing his phone number and an itinerary for the date. Killua looked up from it, startled, and Gon crossed his arms, cheeks puffed out as if Killua had twisted his arm into giving him this information.

“There. Just… text me or something so I have your number,” Gon said.

Killua picked up the paper and would have questioned why Gon decided to pick  _Killua_ as his Safety Contact… but circumstances depended on Killua having this information. 

Gon seemed to get the idea, though, and blushed profusely. “Th-This is only because we live together! A-And you’d know for sure that I made it back alive, so—you know—I—”

“I get it, Casanova, chill out,” Killua said as he got his phone out and typed in Gon’s number. He sent a knife emoji over.

Gon’s phone buzzed in his pocket. When he looked at it, that flustered, annoyed expression evaporated from his face. Gon smiled and managed a firm nod—yes, this would do—and left back to his room.

Killua sat anxiously through Gon’s intermediary limbo. With nothing to do between class and Gon’s date, the guy holed himself up in his room and started playing melodies on Melvin 2.0. Killua tried to concentrate on an essay due in two weeks but couldn’t, not when Kurapika’s smug mug kept fading in and out of focus like an after image on his optic nerve.

He pulled his knees up under the kotatsu comforter and sighed. This semester was turning out to be a nightmare, and he could blame it all on the idiot asshole who scammed him.

And then, Gon emerged. 

Gon flew out of his room like a bat out of hell. He lunged off of the steps and landed with a thud, skidding across the wood floor on his socks. Killua nearly had a heart attack watching this guy slide across the room, arms flung out to steady himself. 

As soon as he stilled motion, Gon whispered, “He’s here.”

_Fuck_ , Killua thought, eyes wide as Gon scrambled for the street window. Killua slid out from under the kotatsu and peered out the window, to the street below, where a familiar black sunhat blocked Kurapika’s blonde hair from view. 

“How do I look?” Gon said.

“You asked me this morning—”

“Right! Thanks—I’ll see you later! Or not, ‘cause you work—right, sorry. Okay, bye!” Gon took off running to the foyer as Killua sat, motionless, at the window. He looked back down at Kurapika, who stood beside the curb on his phone, hip cocked to one side, looking elegant as ever. 

Killua snuck closer to the window to see a glimpse of the front door swinging open. Gon bounded out, peppy and smiley and, to Killua’s horror, went in straight for a hug. 

Killua bashed his forehead into the window.  _Jesus Christ—this guy has a death wish_ .

Instead of snapping Gon’s neck as Killua predicted Kurapika to do, the guy took half a second to respond to the hug. When he did, he wrapped one arm around Gon’s torso and gave him a brief hug. The heathen had the audacity to pull a Smooth Move on Gon by turning it into a  _side hug_ and walking them  _both_ down the sidewalk like they were a goddamn  _couple_ or some shit. Like this  _wasn’t_ their first date.

The moment they turned the corner, Killua realized,  _Oh, right, I’m supposed to be following them_ . 

He tripped getting to his feet, heart racing. He hoped to God Kurapika wasn’t open about his career choice the way he was when they hung out. The amount of stripper jokes Kurapika was capable of was unreal. 

Killua dove into his closet, scrambling for the top shelf where he had a line of manniquen heads single-handedly holding up his wig collection. He grabbed the nearest one—black hair, conspicuous, just right for the job—and thanked his odd profession for prompting him to buy it. He could also thank his odd profession for his inability to trust Freecss.

As Killua took the first bus to the theater, Gon invited Kurapika into his car and said, “You know, this is my first Tinder date.”

“That’s cute,” Kurapika said. He ducked into the car, removing his hat as he went, and leant an elbow against the center console. “That surprises me.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause you’re so fucking cute? I don’t really know,” he scoffed, and Gon turned bright red. Kurapika gestured towards his face and said, “Proving my point right there.”

“Th-There’s nothing cute about  _blushing_ ! I hate being so blush-able,” Gon whined, rubbing at his cheeks. 

He put the car into drive as Kurapika cackled, slipping lower into the seat until his knees touched the dashboard and his hands rested on his stomach. He looked at Gon’s profile, at the way Gon’s lips pouted comically and the soft curve of his nose crinkled up with it. Gon glanced at him, and Kurapika looked away, propping an elbow up on the edge of the window. He grinned to himself and decided that it was fun teasing Freecss.

They, of course, arrived at the theater first. Killua’s bus arrived five minutes later, and when it did, he made quick work of purchasing his ticket under the light of the marquee sign. He tapped his foot impatiently as he waited, thinking,  _Come on, come on, they’re in there! I just know it_ , as his eyes traveled across every face stepping even remotely close to the theater. 

He leant to the side, peering into the building as the worker passed his ticket under the window and said, “Here you go. Second theater on the left.”

Killua snatched it without a word. He turned and ran immediately into some tall asshole in a suit. 

“Watch it!” Killua snapped, only to stutter at the sight of those ridiculous puny sunglasses on Leorio’s oversized noggin. “L-Leorio!”

Leorio hissed, raising a finger to his lips. “Quiet! I’m undercover.”

Killua looked him up and down and said, “You look the same as you do every day. Do you even know what undercover means?”

Leorio ushered Killua out of the way of the doors, where customers were waltzing in for the tail end of the commercials. They had another few minutes to spare before the movie started, and Killua didn’t want to risk one of them leaving the theater to grab a snack before the feature film—it increased the chances of them seeing him. 

And now with Mr. Beanpole here, their conspicuously just plummeted. 

“You couldn’t at  _least_ wear, I don’t know, a hoodie?” Killua snapped.

Leorio flattened a hand over his tie, appalled. “You never know when you’re networking.”

“You’re a  _bartender_ ,” Killua snapped.

“Yeah, and you’re wearing a wig. Wait, why are you wearing a wig?” Leorio said, squinting at Killua’s now black hair. 

Killua put his hands to the wig, frowning as he checked to make sure all bits of bleach were covered. With a scoff, he turned away and said, “Stop changing the topic. Why are you even  _here_ .”

At this, Leorio clammed up and looked vaguely around for an answer. He pointed to the Avatar II poster and said, “Going to catch a movie.”

“Who goes to the movies alone!” 

“You do, apparently! Don’t pretend like you aren’t holding a ticket for one,” he snapped, and Killua could have ripped his ticket in two. 

It didn’t take a genius to put two-and-two together. Not only that, but the pink dusting Leorio’s cheeks said it all. Killua had his suspicions about the guy, but stalking Kurapika’s Tinder date was where he drew the line between Subtle and Obvious.

Killua propped his hands on his hips and teased, “You’re here because Kurapika’s on a date, aren’t you?”

“So what if I am! I could ask you the same thing—”

“Yeah, and I’d reply that I’m stalking Kurapika because he’s on a date with someone in my major. I can’t have him blurting out bullshit about working at the club—it might convince the guy to visit while I’m, you know—”

Leorio quirked an eyebrow. “Working the pole?” 

Killua wanted to strangle him so terribly, his fists clenched at the air in a feeble attempt to avoid throttling Leorio’s scrawny chicken neck.

“You rotten bastard,” Killua seethed, and Leorio smirked. 

Leorio waltzed into the theater while Killua resisted the urge to implode right there in the middle of downtown San Francisco. Instead of combusting, he marched after Leorio, brow furrowed. He bought a goddamn Bunch-A-Crunch because fuck it, he was at the movies, for Chrissake, and he fucking  _deserved it_ .

He ripped open the plastic packaging with his teeth and fiddled with the cardboard opening. Once the top was open, he poured some into his mouth and munched on it on their way to the Avatar II theater. 

Leorio slurped on some soda and said, “Do you think the food was really necessary?”

“You don’t want to see me hangry,” Killua muttered. He tipped his head back and poured another handful of chocolates into his mouth as they stepped into the theater. 

It was pitch black in there, all except for the screen illuminating the faces of twenty-or-so people. The two of them stilled in silence at the top of the steps—well, all except for Killua’s crunching, that is. The two of them scanned the theater in search of Kurapika’s blonde hair—the most recognizable of the two. Gon just looked like a Chinese foreign exchange student looked at too many Hollister magazines for hair inspiration.

They both looked towards the back of the theater then—Killua’s logic being that Kurapika seemed like the type of guy to instigate back-of-theater makeout sessions. 

Instead of finding Kurapika and Gon, Leorio and Killua paused at the sight of their boss sitting next to them in the aisle, his ankles crossed above the seat in front of him. 

“ _Chrollo?_ ” Killua hissed as quietly as possible, though he so  _desperately_ wanted to scream it. 

Chrollo seemed unfazed. He rose an eyebrow, and that was all the acknowledgement they were getting. 

Killua turned to Leorio and asked, “Did you invite this motherfucker?”

“I- No, why would I?” Leorio whisper-shouted. 

Chrollo put a finger to his lips to silence them. Killua sneered at him, only to pause when Chrollo pointed at the section adjacent to them, near the middle, where Killua recognized Kurapika’s ridiculous, emo-as-fuck, black sunhat. 

And there, sitting directly next to Kurapika, was Gon’s dumb ass.

“Shit,” Killua whispered, jolting towards Chrollo’s aisle. 

He scrambled over Chrollo’s legs and into the seat next to him before Chrollo even had a chance to fend for himself. He pushed his knee out to stop Leorio, but Leorio and his giraffe legs stepped right over them. Leorio made a point to slurp his soda in Chrollo’s face.

“Cocky bastard,” Chrollo muttered, crossing his arms. 

Leorio took a seat on Killua’s other side, only to lean over obnoxiously to scowl at Chrollo and said, “Where’d you even hear about this?”

“In case you forgot, he’s bumming at  _my_ place,” Chrollo whispered. 

Someone in front of them turned to glare, and Leorio raised a hand in apology. The instant the stranger turned back around, though, Leorio was seething under his breath, “That’s kind of  _scummy_ of you to stalk Kurapika around when you’re A) his boss and B) his  _landlord_ .”

“You know how many psychopaths use Tinder as their hunting grounds? On  _top_ of that, I’m here  _as_ Kurapika’s boss—this guy could be a patron looking to—” Chrollo started, heated, and Killua hissed at both of them to shut the fuck up,  _God_ , this wasn’t a cockfight. 

“You’re both moronic  _imbeciles_ ,” Killua seethed, slouching in his seat with just enough of a vantage point to catch sight of Gon whispering something into Kurapika’s ear, his eyes hidden behind the rim of Kurapika’s hat. 

“What the fuck are you doing here anyway,” Leorio scoffed under his breath, folding his arms over his chest. Killua looked at him, and Leorio gave him a smug side-eye.

“ _Not_ because I want to get in Kurapika’s pants like  _you_ two blundering idiots,” Killua whispered, and Leorio opened his mouth to argue. “I’m here because—”

_Shit_ , he didn’t think that far ahead. In fact, he didn’t think he’d  _have_ to explain himself at all. He  _did_ , however, plan to intercept Kurapika at some point to keep him from blurting out something about the club. If that was the case, he’d pretend to only know Gon. 

Except… his excuse for being at work would be ruined in the process…

Killua propped his hand on his chin, deep in thought.

“Kurapika’s on a date with one of Killua’s classmates,” Chrollo whispered to Leorio, and the relief that hit Killua upside the head could have knocked him unconscious.

“Yeah, and he  _can’t_ know that Kurapika’s a stripper,” Killua explained, rushed. “Because if my classmate  _knows_ , then he might  _go_ to  _The Phantom_ while I’m working and—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get that,” Leorio whispered, only to point at Chrollo and said, “and  _what_ , exactly, makes you think a  _college student_ is a  _murderer—_ ”

The person in front of them verbally hissed at them to shut the fuck or so help them… Leorio apologized immediately, Killua put his head in his hand, and Chrollo sighed in annoyance. 

Before they could completely settle into staring at the back of Kurapika’s head for two and a half hours, Chrollo leant over the armrest to Killua, who could feel his soul transcending from existence. “You didn’t think any of this through, did you,” Chrollo whispered. 

“Not an ounce of it,” Killua groaned miserably. 

They sat through a total of half an hour of Avatar II, at which point Killua had depleted his stash of Bunch-A-Crunch and Leorio was on the last of his soda, so all he could do was make annoying slurping sounds against the ice at the bottom of the cup. It was at this point that Chrollo put a hand out in front of Killua, effectively prompting all three of them to look in the direction of where Kurapika’s sunhat lifted. 

Killua propped his elbow on the armrest between him and Chrollo and shielded his eyes. Chrollo looked away as Kurapika shimmied out of the row. Leorio slouched lower in his seat, soda positioned in front of his face.

Killua watched Kurapika’s shadow stretch as lights flashed on the screen, and he ascended the ramp up to the back of the theater. The shadow stilled. Killua glanced between his fingers, dread shriveling up his stomach like salt on a snail.

Kurapika’s stonecold eyes rested on them in a silent order to step outside before punches could be thrown. 

Killua groaned internally.  _Fuck me_ .


	11. Careless Whisper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Bop ;)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=izGwDsrQ1eQ)

Killua, Leorio, and Chrollo left the theater in a march not unlike school children being escorted to the principle’s office—albeit  _reluctantly_ on Chrollo’s part, as the rat bastard sat stationary until Kurapika physically wrenched him out of the seat and shoved him ahead of the group. 

Kurapika’s rough man-handling of Chrollo only had Killua dreading the moment when the silence would break, and it didn’t break until they were in the lobby for all the world to hear. 

Well, perhaps just the theater workers refilling the popcorn machine.

“Kurapika—” Leorio started, dejected, and Kurapika shot up a hand to silence him. 

They all remained quiet. Kurapika went on staring out at the front doors of the lobby. The clock was ticking. They had approximately seven minutes—the precise amount of time a scene in a movie was supposed to extend, and the exact amount of time before Gon would grow worried that his date up and left him in the theater.

Killua didn’t like the idea of that, but it was a far better outcome to Gon finding out he was a stripper.

“ _None_ of you,” Kurapika started, and his voice was so loud in comparison to the lobby’s silence that Leorio flinched. Killua was used to being yelled at, and Chrollo just seemed unfazed by everything. 

Chrollo put his hands in the pockets of his jacket and said, dully, “None of us  _what_ , exactly?”

Leorio looked as though Chrollo had just facilitated a stroke. He put a hand frantically to his forehead and hissed, “Dude, don’t piss him off—”

“Leorio’s right,” Kurapika said, completely calm. 

Leorio peeked between his fingers. “Really?”

“Yes, because I’m  _ALREADY PISSED OFF!_ ” Kurapika screamed. Killua rubbed his ear and Leorio nearly fainted. Chrollo blinked. 

Kurapika threw his hands up to his hat and paced away, towards the startled employees, and back again. He gestured frantically at Killua, who pointed a finger to himself as Kurapika said, “Seriously, why the  _fuck_ are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be at the club?”

“I got someone to cover for me,” Killua said. “Why the  _fuck_ are you on a date with a freshmen, anyway?”

“I’d be a freshmen, too, if I went to college! Which I  _didn’t_ , because I like to make  _cash_ ,” Kurapika seethed, slapping his hand to his palm like he was about to beat Killua’s ass. “So that I can  _pay_ for my  _dates_ like a  _sugar daddy_ ! That’s the energy I want, and y’all are fucking it right up the asshole!”

“I thought the energy you wanted was to  _have_ a sugar daddy,” Leorio said, cowering.

Kurapika cracked the back of his hand against his palm and Leorio yelped, “Oh God!” when Kurapika pointed directly at him and cried, “Ding ding ding! We have a goddamn  _winner!_ My  _fucking_ God, you’re a genius!”

Leorio put a hand to his chest to calm himself before saying, “There’s no need to yell.”

Kurapika eyed them all furiously. “All of you need to  _leave_ . I don’t give a shit if you wasted twenty bucks on a ticket for this— _don’t_ mess this up for me.”

With that, he turned on his heels and stormed back to the theater down the hall. Killua watched him go, fully mortified. He put a hand to his head and regretted sitting with Chrollo and Leorio. Maybe this plan would have worked if he really  _did_ go solo on this mission. 

_No_ , he thought, overwhelmed by the frantic, desperate energy to  _stop_ Kurapika from going back in there. 

Killua stomped his foot in frustration before taking off jogging after Kurapika. Kurapika slowed his steps the second he heard his pursuer approaching, and when he turned, he did so with a fist raised specifically to punch someone  _tall_ in the arm. Instead, he came back short with Killua standing there looking emo as fuck in his black wig. 

Kurapika lowered his fist with a huff. “What is it.”

“It’s just—” Killua started, biting his lip. He glanced back at Leorio and Chrollo, who, for better or for worse, were still standing there, now waiting for Killua to say his piece. He turned back, Chrollo’s excuse on the tip of his tongue. “That…  _guy_ you’re seeing. He’s in my class.”

Kurapika was bored out of his mind. He rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah, and? I’m not gonna talk about  _Phantom_ on the first date, you know.”

“I know. I just—if you _do_ tell him, he might… you know. I don’t want to worry about that… happening.”

“What  _I_ hear—” Kurapika said, crossing his arms and readjusting his stance. Killua swallowed hard.  _Shit_ , he thought,  _he’s getting ready to argue_ . “–Is a lot of  _you_ problems. Did it ever cross your mind that I’m not  _stupid_ ? Of fucking course I do my research—I know he’s at the same university as you.”

“But if you tell him—”

“Is it really so bad that we’re strippers?” Kurapika hissed under his breath, glaring Killua down. 

The fire at the pit of Killua’s stomach churned with a roar. “It  _is_ because of the profession I’ll be in  _after_ university. I don’t need condescension on top of an already socially demanding job,” Killua said.

“You do realize how condescending it is to hear a dancer talk about nothing but their PhD, graduate bullshit, right?” Kurapika said, and it pierced Killua directly in the chest with all of the guilt and shame he intended to inflict. “We get it—you’re educated, in debt, and won’t  _be here_ in four years like the rest of us will be—just shut up about it already.”

With that, Kurapika dipped back into the theater and left Killua behind.

Killua’s shoulders slumped, more frustrated with himself than anything. He tended to forget that, in reality,  _The Phantom_ was just a job. It was foolish of him to assume that Kurapika was his friend at all, or that Killua had any say in what Kurapika did in his freetime. 

Killua pushed his hand back over his forehead, slipping the wig off and pealing the cap off with it. He stepped back to the lobby where Leorio met him halfway, concern etched on his brow. 

“I’m sure he didn’t mean that,” Leorio said.

“No, I get it,” Killua sighed, clutching the wig between his hands. “I… just tend to put too much faith the wrong people. I’ll see you guys later, I guess.”

Killua headed for the door as Leorio called after him, saying, “Killua, come on. You know how Kurapika is sometimes—Christ, this is a mess.” He put his hands to his face and groaned. He pulled his hands down over his beard, giving him a perfect vantage point to Chrollo, who rose an eyebrow at him to punctuate just how unimpressed he was. 

Leorio slapped his hands down and said, “Would it kill you to be a  _little_ sympathetic here.”

“What  _is_ sympathy,” Chrollo said, dramatically, as if on the stage of a Shakespearean drama. Leorio threw his arms in the air and groaned.

* * *

“He was  _perfect_ ,” Gon moaned, dramatically, as if swooning over a chaise lounge. Instead of a lounge, however, he was in the stairwell, swooning over the steps. He swayed against the railing, hands sliding along the metal pole with a dreamy sigh. “He was totally out of my league… Why did he go out with me?”

Zushi had an elbow propped on his knee, his hand cupping his chin. He shrugged and said, “Alas, only Kurapika knows. So are you gonna see him again?”

“I don’t know,” Gon confessed, slumping down beside Zushi. “Like… it went  _too_ well. And he paid for my meal afterwards… and my ticket… He’s got his whole  _life_ figured out, you know?”

“Just ‘cause a guy has money doesn’t mean he’s got his life together. What if he’s selling drugs?”

Gon thought on it. How much money could a person make selling drugs? He never considered it as a viable profession considering he, himself, was not a drug user.

Gon pouted, glowering at the opposite wall.  _Unless T counts…_ he thought.

Zushi slapped him on the arm. “Focus, dude. I can see your brain wandering a thousand miles away.”

“Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking about drugs,” Gon confessed, waving his hands dismissively.

Zushi’s eyes widened and he whispered, “You do drugs?” as if the FBI was eavesdropping.

Gon rolled his eyes. “Not  _actually_ . I do weekly injections—for hormone therapy.”

“Ah… I see…” Zushi hummed, and Gon rose an eyebrow at him. Zushi squinted at him and Gon startled a little. He bunched his shoulders up, hands clasped between his knees, as Zushi inspected him for a moment. 

“Wh-What? Stop staring at me like that,” Gon muttered, looking away. “It’s not  _that_ weird—”

“That—! That’s not what I meant! It’s just  _interesting_ I guess. I’ve never had a friend… _transition_ before,” Zushi said, and Gon blushed a little. At least, it started that way, until the heat flooded all the way from his cheeks to his ears and down his neck.

_Christ, I’m so weak_ , Gon thought, rubbing his hand through his hair.  _He calls me his friend one time and I turn to mush_ .

“I also guess it’s kind of cool that I never knew you  _before_ , you know? I can’t picture you as a girl, or whatever,” Zushi said.

Gon perked up. “Really?”

“Yeah. Like, at first I was like, ‘Yeah, that’s definitely a dude, he dresses like shit,’ but now you dress all posh and now I’m like, ‘He’s either bi or metrosexual—’”

“Z-Zushi! Oh my God,” Gon cried, mortified. He slapped his hands over his face as Zushi went on, “Gays are flamboyant as fuck! Why do you think I wear scarves, dude! You  _never_ wear scarves! Even Knuckle wears scarves and turtle necks.”

“Scarves are  _so_ feminine,” Gon groaned.

Zushi teased Gon a moment longer before tipping his head onto Gon’s shoulder and saying, “No one’s forcing you to date this guy, you know. So what if he’s handsome, rich, and sweet?”

“I know,” Gon sighed. “I just feel  _guilty_ , I guess. What if Kurapika’s, like, the best that Tinder has to offer, and I’m just giving up because of some stupid… differing life circumstances.  _Eventually_ I’ll be graduating, you know? Then  _I’ll_ be making bank, too.”

“Yeah, says the  _music theory student_ ,” Zushi laughed, and Gon rolled his eyes. “I say try it out once more. You don’t know what Kurapika’s perspective of you is. Maybe he wasn’t as into you as you thought! It’ll make for an easy excuse to stop seeing him.”

Gon put his head back in his hands. “Dammit, Zushi, now I’m worried he doesn’t like me.”

Meanwhile, Killua could be found avoiding Kurapika’s calls. They had plans to carpool to work that day, but Killua couldn’t fathom sitting in the same stifling air as Kurapika. His pride had shriveled up and died in the theater lobby, and it frustrated him that at one point, he had the balls to assume that Kurapika would be on his side.

Killua sighed at the sensation of his frustration digging a crevice in his chest the size of the Grand Canyon, a crevice that always existed, but was filled over the year by the comradery at  _The Phantom_ . He forgot that they were all just… contract workers, some with shorter sentences than others. They put on amiable facades in an attempt to get better stage times, in hopes that if someone bailed, they’d give their slot to  _him_ .

Kurapika wasn’t really his friend.

He didn’t have any of those.

And so, he let Kurapika’s second call go to voicemail where he would later hear Kurapika saying, “ _Quit being a pussy. I didn’t hurt your feelings, ya dingus_ ,” from where he was standing on the roof of the parking structure with a cigarette between his fingers.

Kurapika hung up and slapped his phone to his leg. He sighed and considered hanging around a bit longer, but it was clear that Killua had other plans to get to the club that evening. 

Kurapika put the cigarette back to his lips and took a deep breath, just before coughing at the sight of Gon Freecss emerging from the stairwell door. Kurapika’s lungs burned as he hastily stamped out his cigarette and half-hoped the hat would be enough to disguise him. 

Gon recognized it, though, along with Kurapika’s all-black ensemble. 

“Kurapika!” Gon cried, startled. His car keys jingled as he jogged over to Kurapika’s car, saying, “What’re you doing here?”

“I just—”

Gon hesitated. Kurapika looked ethereal up on the parking lot roof, and strangely… familiar. His eyes caught on the last of the cigarette smoke trailing off of Kurapika’s lips, and then, it clicked.

He pictured the back of Killua’s head, and Killua’s hand reaching up to pluck the cigarette out of Kurapika’s fingers. He thought about Killua’s date the night he went to the concert and wondered if that date was  _with_ Kurapika. He couldn’t deny the faint, hesitant recognition on Killua’s face when he had shown Kurapika’s profile to the guy. He hadn’t second-guessed it then, but he was certainly second-guessing it now.

Before Kurapika could make up some faint idea of an excuse, Gon tipped his head to the side and said, “Weird question, but do you know someone named Killua Zoldyck?”

Kurapika certainly didn’t miss nor forget the look on Killua’s face when he went back into the theater. Betrayal, was what it was. Kurapika had thought it was ridiculous and childish of Killua to have the nerve to look like  _that_ after having asked Kurapika to change  _his_ mind about Freecss.

_Say you don’t know him_ , Kurapika thought.

“What makes you think I know him?” he said, folding his arms over his chest.

Gon pulled his phone from his pocket, his backpack slung over one shoulder. He sifted through his messages with ease before coming to the link to Retz’ article, featuring the photo of Killua and Kurapika together on the roof.

Kurapika couldn’t help but glare at it. Who the hell was taking paparazzi shots of them?  _Now I see why the rat bastard’s concerned_ , he thought. As much as he refused to give in to the guilt, he couldn’t deny the small,  _teeny-_ tiny inkling of regret for bitching Killua out. If people were taking paparazzi shots of him, Killua had a right to be paranoid.

Kurapika just didn’t know the extent of it until Gon shoved it in his face.

_Shit_ , Kurapika thought, putting a hand to his hat as he sighed,  _now I have to apologize_ .

“That’s you, isn’t it?” Gon said. 

“It’s pixelated, is what it is,” Kurapika said. 

Gon put his phone down with a dramatic huff. “I just wanna know how you  _know_ Killua.”

_Play dumb_ .

“Who’s Killua?” 

_Not that dumb!_

“Kurapika…” Gon sighed. “I can  _tell_ that it’s you in the photo. I’m not stupid.”

Kurapika rolled his eyes. He leant a hip against the hood of his car, leaning into Gon with a soft smile. Gon swallowed hard, eyes wide and hands gripping his phone to his chest. 

Some of the best lies were partial truths, so Kurapika decided to go with that route. 

“ _Yes_ , I work with him,” Kurapika sighed. He gestured to his car and said, “We sometimes carpool, or whatever.”

“Oh! I’ve been meaning to ask him where he works. Where do you guys work?” Gon said, and Kurapika raised an eyebrow because, last  _he_ knew anything, Killua didn’t exactly have “friends”. 

“It’s private,” Kurapika said, as if that wasn’t suspicious. Gon tipped his head curiously as Kurapika leant in, and Gon would have been fine. He would have been able to handle this conversation normally had Kurapika not  _gotten into his personal space_ and holy _heck_ , was it hot in here? Oh, wait, no, they were outside. It was cold outside. Then why was his face heating up so much?

Kurapika grinned at the sight of Gon’s pink cheeks and said, “Listen… I gotta go.”

“‘Kay,” Gon whispered, breathless, hopeless, and all of the above.

Kurapika grazed a hand over Gon’s hip, and it had Gon melting even more. No one  _ever_ touched his hip. “So I was thinking we could hang out again some time?” he said, tipping is head to the side. 

Gon nodded wordlessly. Kurapika smiled. “Yeah? Okay, cool. I’ll text you.”

“‘Kay,” Gon said, and Kurapika passed him, his hand trailing along Gon’s pelvis before he reached for the driver’s door. He propped it open with his hip and gave Gon one last dashing smile before ducking in and shutting the door. Gon took that moment to get his shit together and back to his car.

While Gon made his way back home, Killua could be found entering through the back door of the club and navigating his way to the locker room. Once there, he dressed for the floor as swiftly as possible so as to avoid overlapping with Kurapika’s arrival. He escaped down the hall and through the tasseled curtain onto the floor just as the back door opened and Kurapika stepped through. 

Killua sighed as he made it to the bar, out of breath. He swayed in his heels and offered a smile to a customer at the bar. It took a second for Killua’s brain to catch up with him after he had left it abandoned on the street outside of the parking garage back on campus.

“Mr. Hill,” Killua said, clearing his throat. He stepped over to the man at the bar, whose hands were busy twirling the neck of a martini glass. Killua tipped his head to the side, studying the drink, and said, “It’s a Thursday. Work in the morning?”

“Precisely why I’m drinking now,” Pariston said with a smile. He leant back in his seat, one arm crossed over his chest and the other holding the glass up. “I’ll be gone before the rush. Promise.”

“Ah, because all of your promises hold up, don’t they,” Killua said with a light, airy laugh of a blonde bimbo.

Leorio strolled over then, prompted by Killua raising his hand to catch his attention. Leorio put a hand to the bar and said, “What’ll it be,” to which Killua replied, “Malibu and coke, my good sir.”

As Leorio poured it out, Pariston reached into his jacket and produced his wallet. “Well, here’s one promise you can hold me to. Let me buy you that drink.”

“Surprised you remembered.”

Killua took a seat beside Pariston and pulled the drink closer. He only had so much of this bullshit to care for before the alcohol kicked in, so for now, he’d tolerate a chat with Pariston Hill while Leorio gave him a knowing side-eye from down the bar. 

Killua gave Leorio a what-the-fuck gesture, and Leorio shrugged. 

“Trouble in paradise with you two?” Pariston commented with that smug grin of his. 

“Hardly,” Killua scoffed and immediately made a mental note to dial up the charm. He should be acting like a bastard at work—he could save that for later. Killua passed his tongue over his bottom lip and put his chin up, smiling as he said, “I have no paradise—if that’s what we’re calling being in a  _relationship_ these days.”

“Ah,” Pariston laughed. 

“Which reminds me: How long are you in town?”

“Just a while longer,” Pariston said. “Five more days, to be precise.”

“Well, I hope to see more of you around. We missed you,” he said, and with that, he stepped down from the stool and left his empty glass behind.

Pariston followed, though, and Killua turned to face him, hip cocked. He glanced down at the wallet in Pariston’s hand, and then the hundred dollar bill he was extracting. Killua glanced back up with charming smile and a raised eyebrow. 

His eye caught on the figure emerging from behind the bar. Kurapika, with his hair braided back and studded with pearl pins, was actively trying to catch Killua’s eye. Killua would have none of it, even when Kurapika leant commically far to the side, to see Killua from around Pariston’s patient, smiling expression.

Killua put his chin up, smiled, and said, “Well, if you insist,” before he took the hand Pariston held the bill out with. 

He folded the hundred into other hand as Pariston said, “Just to chat.”

“Of course,” Killua said. “Follow me.”

Killua led him by the hand to the stairs up to the VIP section, and to the rooms at the back where Killua tugged a curtain aside and held it open for Pariston to step in. The room was doused in deep, red lights that shimmered against the beaded curtains, which shed a water-like texture across the booths.

Killua wedged the hundred dollar bill into a strap on his corset and said, “You have my full attention now, Hill.”

“There’s an event I’m going to, and I require… ‘ _arm candy_ ’,” he said, and the instant ‘event’ was mentioned, Killua couldn’t help the hope that soared in his chest. He knew, over the years, that Pariston was beyond wealthy, but the man had never asked for anything beyond the club since the first time he suggested taking Killua out to dinner. 

Back then, Killua had been hesitant to engage with customers outside of the club—still was, even.  _The Phantom_ was a safe environment where customers were expected to act within a certain set of boundaries, but once they left? All bets were off.

And now? With Killua looking to find a new place, he needed that dough.

“And I realize that last year you said you weren’t interested in seeing me outside of  _The Phantom_ ,” Pariston said, “and if you still aren’t, that’s perfectly all right. You can keep the hundred—but if you  _agree_ , you can expect two dozen more of those.”

Killua learned a while ago not to gawk at the numbers. After Pariston’s first deal with him on his very first day, Killua learned to expect cash well into the hundreds, and on rare occassions, cash that Pariston was offering him now.

“Is this a one-time thing? Or can I expect to spend more time with you outside of the club after this?” Killua said, cautious of his phrasing. 

“That depends.”

“And… what’s the context of this event?”

Pariston smiled. “Nothing that concerns you. Rest assured it’s nothing obscene—white-collared event, and I’ll provide the tux.”

Killua had been to professional, white-collared events before—back when he was living with his parents. He found them dull, but bantering with the sons of elite businessmen was somewhat fun. Cocky bastards, the whole lot of them.

“What makes you think I’m qualified for something like… a suit-and-tie event,” Killua said, resting his hands on his hips. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly a  _prude_ .”

“No one is behind closed doors, trust me,” Pariston said with a soft laugh. He looked down the laced front of Killua’s corset before bringing his eyes back up and reminding Killua that two-thousand dollars could get Pariston more than just a date for an event. 

“I’m not a prostitute,” Killua reminded him.

“I’m very aware of that. I’m not looking for someone in that profession—I have that taken care of,” he said, and Killua wanted to laugh. He wondered who the lucky bastard was. “Does this sound agreeable to you?”

Killua hesitated. He felt the crinkle of the hundred dollars on his hip. “It’s tempting, I have to admit,” he said. “I’ll give you my number—text me the event information, and I’ll let you know by tomorrow.”

“No rush,” Pariston said as he pulled his phone from his pocket and opened up a new contact for Killua to populate with Silver as the name and his number underneath it. “It won’t be for another few weeks.”

“I’d rather not make you wait—unless you’re into that kind of thing,” Killua teased as he handed the phone back and offered a quick, cheeky wink. “Anything else? We have time for more, if you’d like.”

“Oh, no, that was all for today. Simply came to see you,” he said, stepping towards the door. “Treat yourself to another drink with that tip. Hope to hear from you soon.”


	12. I Just Died In Your Arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Bop lol](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2wf-MNzSbpA&list=RDQAo_Ycocl1E&index=10)

**D** ue to Killua’s inability to face Kurapika, he stayed late into the night—or rather,  _early_ in the morning—until he was certain Kurapika vacated the locker room. He had Leorio sneak in to check, and when Leorio emerged unharmed to give Killua the clear, he booked it home at three in the goddamn morning. 

It wasn’t often that Killua spent his nights like that. If he could avoid it, he tried to escape by one, but desperate times called for desperate measures. 

He nearly fell asleep on the bus home, and when he arrived at the door to the apartment, his fingers felt numb and useless. He fumbled with his keys, yawning against the back of his hand. When he pushed through, the apartment was dark all except for the streetlights streaming in through the living room window. 

Killua wandered in, shoes abandoned at the door. He couldn’t be bothered with the remaining scraps of his makeup, so the wipes he used on the bus would have to do. After staggering into his room, he set the alarm on his phone, the inevitable snooze, along with an old digital clock on his nightstand to ensure that he did, in fact, wake up in time for class.

He did not, in fact, wake up in time for class.

When the first of Killua’s alarms went off, Gon heard it from his cozy spot in his own room, huddled deep beneath his covers. He laid there with his eyes closed, soaking in the morning energy like a solar panel beneath the sun. 

Killua’s ringtone trailed on, muffled through the wall. Gon yawned, peeking his head out from the covers. Slowly but surely, he opened his eyes, and wondered if Killua was going to wake up anytime soon to turn the alarm off. 

He checked the time on his watch; he had another twenty minutes left until his own alarm went off, so he decided to turn over, pull the blankets up, and ignore Killua’s alarm blaring Africa by Toto through the walls. 

A few minutes went by and the song started over, increasing in volume with every minute of the song. Soon, Gon was tapping his foot to the beat, only to curse himself for getting distracted—he was supposed to be getting fourteen-and-a-half more minutes of sleep! 

But then, he was singing the lyrics under his breath and  _god-fucking-dammit_ , he was jamming too hard to sleep. Gon threw his blankets down with a huff, only to yelp when the single most, soul-wrenching alarm started blaring from Killua’s room. 

Gon’s heart came damn near close to rupturing all over his organs, rendering him useless for the day, but instead, he lunged to his feet, gasping, and threw his fists down with a groan of contempt. Who used  _alarms_ at  _that_ volume when there wasn’t a fire happening?

He stomped to the door and, once out in the common space, stilled at the top of the stairs on his way to the bathroom. The alarm was still going off, and Gon wondered if Killua was even  _alive_ .

_It_ was _pretty late when I went to bed… and he wasn’t here…_ Gon thought, tapping a finger to his chin. He gasped again, thinking aloud, “What if he drank too much last night? What he choked on his vomit—what if he’s  _dead?_ Oh, God, I don’t know how to carry a dead body—Wait, no, I’d just call the police—Oh, God, I’ve never  _seen_ a dead body…”

Gon pranced around the living space through the terror-inducing alarm emitting through Killua’s closed bedroom door. He put his fingers to his lips and chewed on the hem of his sweatshirt sleeve, watching Killua’s door stand  _ominously_ and  _threateningly_ across the room from him, tempting him with the horror that might greet him on the other side.

“If he’s dead… I gotta at least check,” he reasoned, only to backtrack. “Right? Or I could wait until it starts smelling bad—Okay, no, we’re going in.”

Gon marched up the steps and reached for Killua’s door handle. After hesitating a moment, he clutched it, pride it open, and went in search of the alarm’s epicenter on the nightstand. 

His heart beat, heavy and deafening in his chest, pulsing like the sweat gathering in his pits as he searched frantically for the Off button. The instant it was spotted, he slapped it and the god-awful sound ceased.

Gon’s ears rang and he opened his mouth wide in hopes of popping them. When that didn’t work, he rubbed at his earlobes, frowning as he turned to Killua’s bed where the idiot was still passed out and only half-covered with a blanket.

Gon stilled. He looked around, struck by the sudden realization that he was standing in the middle of Killua’s room, right next to Killua’s bed, where Killua laid fast asleep while Africa by Toto still played on his phone. 

Gon reached for Killua’s shoulder. He gave it a soft poke and whispered, “Hey, Killua…” to no avail. 

Killua didn’t budge. 

Gon gave him another nodge, jerking his hand back just as quickly as the last time. The danger, however, was out for the count. 

“Hey, get up,” Gon said, a touch louder, his hand shaking Killua by the shoulder.

Killua rolled onto his back, his arm half-raised over his face as he groaned. His eyes were red from (unbeknownst to Gon) rubbing at the mascara in his sleep, and his pale skin was pink around his nose and cheeks. If Gon wasn’t so paranoid about Killua missing class, he might have focused on it and thought about it for the rest of the day.

Instead, he thought about something much,  _much_ worse.

Killua’s eyes peeked open, just a smidge, and Gon prompted him with another shake, saying, “Hey, wake up. Your phone alarm’s still going off.”

Killua blinked sleepily and whispered, voice hoarse with sleep, “Canary…?”

Gon stared at him, his knees against the edge of the mattress, and a hand on the nightstand. “What?” he said.

The arm Killua had flopped over his forehead reached out. Gon stilled, frozen, and he only cracked after Killua’s hand pulled him by the head. Gon felt the warmth of Killua’s skin long before he felt it on his lips, pressed to Killua’s chapped lips. 

Gon’s adrenaline sent him flying back. His shin slammed into Killua’s bedframe, rattling it thoroughly against the wall, only to swing back up in the first defensive maneuver he remembered from self-defense class: A swift kick to the gut. 

Gon slammed the heel of his foot into Killua’s abdomen before taking off, screaming, as Killua lurched awake with a pained grunt. 

Gon tripped and skidded on his stomach across the wood flooring. His ass fell down the first of the steps before he gathered his bearings and reared back to his bedroom door. He barrel-rolled inside, doubled-back, and slammed the door shut behind him. Once safe from the enemy, he let out the breath caught in the back of his throat. 

Gon flattened his back to the door and skidded down until his bum hit the wood. He slapped his hands over his lips and whispered, “He just kissed me—Why did he kiss me? Oh… no, oh no, no, no—”

He scrambled too his feet, pacing the length of his room and back again. “Maybe he thought I was someone else? But why would he call me a  _bird_ ? Does he have a bird fettish? Oh, God, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph church didn’t prepare me for  _this_ —!”

Gon’s mind dove straight back to the moment his face was close enough to see Killua’s lidded eyes so close-up, he could pick out Killua’s long lashes one-by-one. When he could feel both of Killua’s lips, resting against Gon’s bottom one. 

Gon startled back into existence, his back flattening against the door once again. “What do I  _do_ ?” he thought aloud, heart racing, panic etched into every fiber of his being. He couldn’t  _breathe_ , he couldn’t  _think_ , he couldn’t—

The door behind him swung open. Gon fell back with a cry, his head hitting the wood flooring. He cradled it, groaning, and opened his eyes to the sight of Killua standing over him, white bed-head mused and tossed haphazardly over his forehead. His eyes, glaring. 

Gon screamed and scrambled to his feet, and in his haste, managed to trip onto his mattress. He bounced against the comforter, his eyes stuck on Killua stepping onto the threshold of his bedroom.

Killua’s voice was rich with barely-restrained rage. 

“Because of you,” he started, pulling up his shirt, “my  _stomach_ is bruised.”

Gon’s eyes honed in on Killua’s stomach. He had seen it before, but his attention began and ended at the  _very_ obvious ink that he temporarily mistook for a happy trail.

Gon lunged to his feet, screaming and weilding a pillow. “G-Get out! Get out of my room! Get away from me!” he screamed, flinging it at Killua. He landed a solid  _smack_ that sounded like a  _gunshot_ to Killua’s chest. 

Killua grunted, staggering out of the room just far enough for Gon to slam the door in his face. 

Gon shoved the pillow against the door, panting, eyes wild. He shook his head, blinking hard.  _No,_ he thought,  _I totally just imagined that tattoo, didn’t I?_

He wasn’t an idiot, though, and he knew a tattoo when he saw one, especially one he  _didn’t_ see the last time he had caught sight of Killua’s naval.  _Especially_ one that he recognized.

_No, plenty of people have naval tattoos_ , he thought, eyes wide with horror. 

“What’s the matter with you?” Killua called from the other side of the door. 

Gon flinched, clutching at the pillow in a desperate attempt to keep his door  _shut_ . “Y-You know what you did!” Gon said, voice cracking. 

“The fuck does that mean?  _You’re_ the one who kicked me,” Killua reminded, thoroughly irritated.

Gon stilled. He lowered the pillow after a moment and opened the door, just a crack, so he could see the look on Killua’s face that told Gon that this guy didn’t have a  _damn clue_ what prompted Gon to kick him.

“You don’t… remember?” Gon whispered.

“ _What_ , you kicking the shit out of my appendix?” he said, gesturing to his stomach. Gon stared at it, but it was covered now. He flinched away when Killua snapped again, “If you’re gonna wake me up, do it  _gently_ ,  _God_ .”

The horrendous image of some nameless, faceless woman came to mind. Gon watched her, draped in a silky nightgown that stopped just below the gentle curve of her ass. She would seat herself on the edge of Killua’s bed, lean in, and wake Killua with the tender touch of her lips against his…

“N-No!” Gon screamed bloody-murder, startling Killua into jumping away. “I-I can’t—I can’t do that!”

He slammed his door shut and held onto the handle with a firm, desperate grip. He waited for Killua to leave, which took a moment due to the fact that Gon had rendered him immobile, speechless.

After a moment of confused alarm, Killua cleared his throat and turned back to his door. He paused, though, to glance back at Gon’s bedroom door before looking away with a scoff and leaving to go about his day.

Gon, however, could  _not_ go about his day. Not after  _that_ .

That was his first kiss.

And Killua didn’t even remember it.

But, more importantly,  _why_ did Killua have a tattoo on his stomach?

As Gon went to class that day, he considered the odds of him halucinating it. He  _had_ just woken up—his eyes were always a little unfocused in the morning—so perhaps he could account for that margin of error? And he couldn’t remember Killua’s happy trail being  _all_ that dark, or even existent—because unbeknownst to Gon, Killua waxed regularly. 

Gon sat in lecture, fondling his soft, supple lips with the fascination of someone who  _liked_ babies and wanted nothing more than to rub their smooth, hairless head. Thus was how Zushi found him several minutes later.

Zushi paused at the bottom of the stairs. Gon didn’t notice him, so Zushi tipped his head to the side and studied Gon, curious about this weird predicament he found his friend in. After a moment, Zushi dispelled the notion from his head and proceeded up to Gon.

Before Zushi could even speak, Gon asked, “Have you been kissed before?”

Zushi gasped. “Did Kurapika kiss you?”

“What? No—but I did see him yesterday,” Gon confessed.  _They work together_ , he remembered, and the thought of Killua’s naval tattoo had Gon’s brain spiraling all over again because  _what if_ …

“Oh. Well, I’m betting on you two. That guy’s hot as  _fuuuuck_ ,” Zushi sang as he pulled out a notebook for class and slapped it onto his chair’s pull-out desk. “And to answer your question: Yes, I have.”

“When?” Gon said, eyes wide.

“Senior year of high school?”

Gon slumped with a groan, sliding his hands over his face. Of  _course_ he was not only a late-bloomer to the Bro Committee, but he was also a late-bloomer in the romance department.

“Dude, what is it? It’s fine if you haven’t kissed anyone yet. I had a cousin who didn’t even start  _dating_ until he was out of college—school’s stressful!” Zushi said, waving his hands about. “I don’t know how any has time to suck each other off when there’s an essay to write!”

“I can see  _precisely_ where your head is at,” Knuckle’s voice sounded from behind. They both startled, Gon yelped, and Knuckle swung over the back of the seat beside him. He dropped down, an arm slung over the back of Gon’s chair, and said, “You could say the same for kids who go to frat parties on a Thursday.”

At that moment, attention in the lecture hall gravitated to the exit where Killua Zoldyck made his entrance. Gon’s amygdala spasmed, flitting rapidly between fight and flight as he watched the source of his torment walk nonchalantly to the back of the hall. Gon, Zushi, and Knuckle watched Killua’s ascent to greatness before inevitably turning back around before Killua could tell that they were watching. 

_I need to know that the tattoo wasn’t his_ , Gon realized, certain that he would fall into maddess if he didn’t confirm it sooner. To do that, however, he either A) had to forcefully remove Killua’s shirt or B) take a trip to  _The Phantom_ .

As lecture started, Gon discretely lifted his phone from his pocket and pulled up Killua’s contact information from the day he and Kurapika first went out. He opened up their blank messages and asked, “ _Do you work tonight?_ ” and waited, elbow propped on the armrest, and fingers rubbing against his bottom lip. 

He resisted the urge to look back at Killua just as a response came through. 

“ _Yeah why?_ ”

“ _I’m thinking about having a friend over. They’ll leave before you get back!_ ” Gon lied before holding his phone against his chest. 

When it buzzed, he managed to wait all of five seconds before sneaking a peek. “ _Just don’t let them in my room_ .”

Gon smiled, relieved, but equally anxious for that night when he’d leave studio class to investigate the club scene. It was dark out by then, and the studio building was close enough to Zushi and Knuckle’s dormitory that they could walk to the front door in a matter of minutes. Gon waved farewell after escorting them and went about his night, maneuvering between campus buildings, and at last arriving at the parking structure where Retz’ photo had perfectly captured the fading sunlight behind Kurapika and Killua on the third floor of the building. 

Gon decided to wait for the night to set into full swing. He pushed himself up onto the hood of his car and wielded Melvin 2.0 up on the roof of the parking structure—just to pass the time.

At 9PM sharp, Gon could be spotted laying Melvin 2.0 down in its case, snapping it shut, and stowing the case away in the back of his car. And, with the parking lot nearly cleared out for the day, he made quick work of looping down to the ground floor and escaping out onto the streets of San Francisco with  _The Phantom_ plugged into his GPS.

Though it  _was_ the dead of night, San Francisco’s fog only managed to spread the glow of street lamps and cast a hazy halo across the streets. When he stepped out onto the sidewalk to pay the parking meter, the moisture in the air clung to the wrinkles in his jean jacket, and the hoodie he wore underneath it. 

It occured to him that he was, in fact, returning to the strip club only when he looked up at the marquee sign outside of  _The Phantom_ . There was a group of guys herding themselves in, laughing and drunk from another bar down the street. When Gon stepped hesitantly up behind them, one of them gave him a thumbs up, gestured to the club, and said, “Good shit.”

Gon smiled weakly and said, “Oh, I’m not—I mean, I guess I sort of  _am_ going to the club… But I’m on a mission!”

The guy laughed and slapped the back of his buddy ahead of him. “Dude, this guy’s on a mission—let him pass.”

“Oh fuck, a mission. Dude, skip ahead.”

“Hell yeah, get up there dude.”

“He’s on a mission!”

Gon slid past them, smiling nervously as they all whooped and hollered and started clapping. He blamed it on their drunken behavior, but he really wished they’d stop making a scene, especially when Gon was confronted with the host of the establishment dressed in an unbuttoned silk blouse with flowing sleeves and high-waisted slacks. 

The host crossed his legs, leant against the divider ledge, and said, “ID, if you will.”

He pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and, after confirming his age, the host put his stamp away and said, “That’ll be twenty-five dollars, handsome.”

Heat flushed to Gon’s cheeks. He produced thirty dollars, which the host exchanged for a five. As he handed it over, Gon asked, “Is there… someone here with white hair?”

The host offered a devilish grin. Gon’s heart shuddered in his chest, drumming with the rhythm of the fast-paced music pulsing through the walls. “There certainly is. Last stage.”

Gon’s heart stilled in his ribcage, heavy with an odd mix of satisfaction. He felt  _proud_ , for some reason, for putting the pieces together, but he couldn’t be certain until he saw for himself what awaited him at the last stage.

The club looked far different from the rave that previous weekend. It was open, spacious, and doused in purple and pink lighting that spiraled in intoxicating circles, shimmering against the silky curtains that divided the stage area from the booths raised up on platforms. Gon walked down the long bracket of stages, his eyes scanning the faces of the dancers on stage, on the floor, chatting with customers. All of them had the figures of lithe, delicate models and, when the light shone  _just right_ … he could see the defined outlines of their lean muscles that could support the weight of their suspended bodies on the pole.

Gon rubbed the back of his neck. His ears felt so hot that he feared they might explode by the time his eyes trailed to the last of the stages.

The black lights made the pure white fabric of the dancer’s lingerie glow in a sharp contrast to his skin. He spun, his arm extended high over his head and his hand twisted around, gripping the pole with enough strength to emphasize the toned muscles of his forearm and bicep. He braced a hand beneath him, his elbow pushing into the thin band of his underwear that hooked over his hipbone. 

His leg extended into the air. He hooked an ankle around the pole and, with both legs soon braced against it, released both arms and floated, his hands extended out like Kate Winslet on the Titanic. 

Gon slowed at the edge of the stage, where the blacklights highlighted the edge of the stage where a strip of white followed the line of LED lights glowing purple against the dancer’s white, illuminated hair. 

The dancer braced both hands behind his head and, with the ease of a contortionist, unhooked his ankles from the pole. His legs swept down, his stilettos touching gingerly to the stage. Gon’s jaw dropped lower and lower until it was on the ground, and the dancer was rolling their torso up, shoulders straight, and eyes ahead—

—until he looked down and met Gon’s eyes.

“Shit,” Killua huffed, dizzy and out of breath. He staggered to the side, inadvertantly covering a hand over his crotch. He looked away, to where a patron was holding a five dollar bill out. If it weren’t for the blacklights, Gon would have seen the red flush down from Killua’s ears and across his chest.

Gon stared like a fool as Killua made a hasty retreat to the stage steps, ignoring the patron entirely as his heels clicked hurriedly across the concrete floor. Gon’s eyes stuck to Killua’s half-exposed naval around the mesh of his lingerie, where he could still see the dots of his tattoo perfectly. 

“Killu—” he started, only to have Killua slap his hand over Gon’s mouth.

Gon screamed a little, but it was drowned out by the music. Killua dropped his hand, grabbed him by the wrist, and pulled.

He nearly snapped Gon’s wrist in two as he yanked Gon forcefully from the stage, between the tables, and to the bar. Gon scrambled after him with a squeak of terror because holy  _shit_ , now his wrist was hurting like nobody’s business.

“Hey—Hey, not so tightly!” Gon cried, trying uselessly to pry Killua’s hand from his arm. 

Leorio caught sight of them escaping to the back room, startling at the sight. He went to go after them, only to hesitate at the look of  _murder_ on Killua’s face. Instead, he rerouted to the front of the club, lifting the bartop at the end of the row as he went, ducking out onto the floor. 

They walked straight through a beaded curtain that smacked Gon in the eyes and immobilized his internal compass. He skidded into a dimly lit room occupied only by lockers, and only then did Killua release him.

Gon rubbed at his wrist, frowning as Killua turned on him, seething, “What the  _fuck_ are you doing here?”

“ _Me?!_ ” Gon cried, voice pitched. His wrist burned against his stomach as he gestured with his good hand at the state of Killua’s…  _everything_ . 

Killua looked down at himself, rolled his eyes back with a curse, and went to a locker across the room. He dialed in the combination, yanked it open, and pulled out a hoodie from his duffle bag. He slipped his arms into the sleeves and zipped up—it was just large enough to cover his slim g-string. 

He turned back with a furious glare, and Gon looked down, rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck. “I-I just—I thought I recognized your tattoo this morning. From when I…”

The onslaught of mortification sent him crumbling. He slapped his hands over his face and moaned, “I’m so sorry—I shouldn’t have even—”

“Yeah, well, a little too late now,” Killua scoffed, and Gon barely caught it. The club’s music leaked into the locker room where Gon managed to peek between his fingers and see Killua stuff his hands into the front pockets of his hoodie. “Newbies either tip like shit or tip too much. Not your fault.”

The two of them stood awkwardly in silence as Killua coped with the horror of being caught. Gon just barely managed to grasp onto his sense of sanity before it could float away from him and leave him stranded on this island of confusion. Killua’s reactions up until that moment all made sense now: Gon’s admission to going to a  _Phantom_ rave, Gon’s questions about strip clubs, Killua’s weird work hours. 

When Gon showed Killua his coworker’s Tinder profile.

Gon put his hand to his mouth and cursed, “Oh, fuck—”

“Yo, Silver,” someone said at the door. Gon turned to look, and found a black woman with pink hair standing there, her braids swept back into a fluffy ponytail. She turned her sharp eyes onto Gon before asking, “Is everything good in here? Leorio’s concerned.”

_Silver?_ Gon thought, turning back to Killua.

Killua punched the bridge of his nose and said, “ _Yes_ , everything’s fine, Machi. Thank you.”

“I can kick this fucker out if you want,” she said.

“M-Me?” Gon stammered, hoarse with fear. 

Killua waved her off, tugging at the door’s curtain as he said, “That—That won’t be necessary! Thank you for checking, I’ll be back on stage in a bit.”

He swung the curtain shut and, both hands braced on the doorframe, let out a shaky sigh. He turned to glare at Gon, his hands bunched up on the hem of his hoodie sleeves.

Gon gulped. Sure, it was one thing to be threatened by a woman of Machi’s stature, but he quickly looped back to the conclusion that Killua could probably snap Gon’s neck with his thighs alone.

He rubbed nervously at his throat.

“S-So… your stage name is Silver?” Gon whispered.

“ _Don’t_ call me that,” Killua seethed, and Gon nodded quickly. He jabbed a finger at Gon and threatened, “And  _don’t_ you fucking  _dare_ think about telling anyone—”

“I-I won’t!” Gon insisted, shaking his head. 

Down the hall, someone started shouting, and Gon thought he might faint when he recognized the voice of Kurapika—coming in  _their_ direction. “You little shit—You think you can keep avoiding me, but I swear to God I’ll hunt you down and take you out with a boomerang—”

Kurapika flew into the room with the speed of a dog with zero ability to stop. He skidded straight into Killua, who cursed and nearly on his ass if Kurapika hadn’t caught him around the waist. The stilled, Killua with one stiletto out and his arms around Kurapika’s neck.

The only reason Gon  _recognized_ the guy was because of the very specific set of earings on his exposed ears. His hair was otherwise braided back into a tight, low ponytail, away from his perfectly sculpted jawline and cheekbones. Killua was staring at Gon, and Kurapika followed his gaze back to where Gon was standing just outside of the fray.

“Kur…apika… Hi,” Gon uttered weakly, a hand raised in greeting. 

Kurapika’s hands slipped and Killua yelped, scrambling for purchase on Kurapika’s shoulders. They both lost balance as Kurapika cried, “G-Gon! I—Holy shit—” 

They dropped to the floor. Killua’s head bounced back against the concrete and the audible  _thump_ had Gon wincing.

Gon staggered forward as Kurapika pushed himself onto his knees, leaning over Killua. Killua scrunched his eyes shut with a curse, groaning as he pushed himself up and waved them both off. “Get the fuck off of me—Watch it, asshole,” Killua snapped at Kurapika.

“Are you all right?” Gon asked, crouching beside them both. 

Killua slapped his hand away and said, “I’m  _fine_ . Just let me stand up, will ya?”

Gon watched for as long as it took Killua to attempt standing and fail completely. He straightened, just a fraction, only to have his consciousness flicker out. Gon jolted forward with a shout. Kurapika cursed as Gon caught Killua from falling. 

Killua fell heavily into Gon’s arms. Gon had never once carried the deadweight of a Whole Ass Human, and it wasn’t  _anything_ like the movies when the handsome protagonist swept a woman up in his arms. Instead, Killua hit Gon like a sack of bricks and sent them both onto the ground, and Gon merely cushioned the fall.

Gon and Kurapika both stared at Killua’s unconscious body, their horror magnifying until Kurapika broke the silence. “We need to get him to a hospital,” he said, and Gon couldn’t agree more.


	13. Hold The Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Bop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZP69PLBqFUo&list=RDQAo_Ycocl1E&index=2).

**G** on folded his arms over the gated edge of Killua’s hospital bed. He resisted the urge to play with the wrinkles in the bed sheets since Killua had already slapped his hands away once, and the pulse oximeter _really_ hurt to get slapped with.

Killua folded his arms, annoyed, and said, “I don’t see why you’re here. I’ll be discharged soon anyway.”

“But you have a  _concussion—_ ”

“I have a  _headache—_ ”

“Yeah, but that’s a  _symptom_ of a concussion—”

Killua rolled his eyes, slapping his hands down with a huff. He was dressed in nothing but a hospital gown, which was for the better considering… what he arrived in. After dropping him and Kurapika off, Gon had whisked to their apartment under the guise of “going to the store to buy clothes for Killua”. 

It was one thing to cross the boundary of Killua’s work life, and another thing to collide Killua’s work life with their apartment situation.

But also, on the top of getting Killua clothes, Gon could never take back that experience for the life of him. He came to the conclusion that day about Killua’s roommates checklist: That Killua had insisted they stay out of each others’ rooms for the sake of Killua’s closet, which had a section of lingerie that Gon stared at for a solid two minutes before realizing what he was doing, where he was, and where he had to go. 

And, so, Gon was now simply waiting for Killua to be freed from the San Francisco clinic’s clutches. Gon tapped his fingers on the metal ledge and said, “Anyway, I don’t mind driving. I’d rather drive you than have you go on public transit after you fainted like that.”

“I had low blood sugar, you asshole. You see my blood sugar now? It’s sweet and spicy,” Killua said, pointing to the IV in his arm. 

“Just because you’re sweet and spicy  _now_ doesn’t mean you will be  _later_ ,” Gon insisted. 

Of course, there was no way for Gon to know the specifics, but given the little clues Killua had given him, the cause of Killua’s fainting spell wasn’t brain damage, necessarily—it was a mix of malnourishment, sleep deprivation, and over exurtion. 

Bottom line: Overworking.

And for a while there, but he and Kurapika thought Killua suffered a traumatic brain injury.

“You’re mumbling,” Killua said, scowling at him.

Gon squeaked, perking straight up. “S-Sorry! I was just thinking about Kurapika. I feel bad for startling him tonight,” he confessed. He couldn’t take back the fact that he had, in fact, barged into Killua’s work, nor could he regret it—he was glad that he knew now—but as for Kurapika… He regretted dragging the guy into it, too. Kurapika had said his work was private, and Gon should have respected that. 

Killua scoffed and said, “He’ll get over it. Is he the one who told you where I work?”

Gon startled, gasping, “What? No! I, um, I recognized your tattoo. This morning.”

Killua squinted at him.  _His tattoo?_ He didn’t have a tattoo. 

_Oh, fuck_ , he realized, reaching a hand to cover his eyes. 

Gon looked at his lap and said, “You didn’t have one before, so… I thought it was weird. You know, that time I was brushing my teeth and you…”

“Don’t. Finish that sentence,” Killua groaned. He rubbed both hands over his face. The pulse oximeter clapped against his forehead. A few seconds of painful silence passed. Five seconds felt like five minutes as Gon sat and picked at a hangnail on his thumb. 

And then, Killua spoke, muffled through his hands. “Could you do me a favor.”

Gon leapt in his seat. “Y-Yes! Anything!”

Killua pried his hands off of his face, gesturing sharply. “ _Don’t_ tell  _anyone_ about where I work. I fucking mean it. It’s one thing for you to bring your stupid friends over, but the  _club—_ ”

“I-I won’t! And that was just a one-time thing with my friends. It won’t happen again, I promise,” Gon said.

Killua dropped his hands to his lap with a sigh. It pulled the tension from his shoulders, and Gon withered a little from the guilt of having put Killua through that. 

The door to the room slid open. Gon perked up as the doctor pulled at the curtain shielding the door, only to come to the quick realization that this woman was not, in fact, Killua’s doctor.

Killua’s heart stopped in his chest. 

The woman was dressed smart in a simple pantsuit and pointed heels. She looked like the love interest in a James Bond movie with clevage that went to Kingdom Come. Gon couldn’t stop staring at them and thinking,  _God, I’m so glad that I’m already flat-chested. I couldn’t image squashing those puppies down_ .

Just beneath the flat edge of her bangs sat a scowl. A scowl so profound and oddly familiar that Gon felt himself withering with guilt for staring at her honkers.

“A-Alluka…” Killua started, pained. 

The woman marched over, and with every step she took, both Killua and Gon tried unsuccessfully to back away in their seats. Killua pulled the sheets on the bed up over his chest as Alluka came to stand directly beside him. 

She stared him down.

_Alluka?_ Gon wondered. He didn’t know anyone named Alluka, and she looked too professional to play a part in the club scene. 

She wound a fist back and punched Killua square in the gut. 

Killua whithered with a raspy, “ _Oh, fucking hell…_ ” as Alluka checked to make sure she didn’t chip a nail. 

Gon’s jaw dropped as Alluka spoke at last. “Serves you right, you little shit.”

Killua tipped onto his side, grunting and clutching at his stomach. “What’re you  _doing_ here?”

“In case you forgot,  _I’m_ your emergency contact,” she said. Killua put his hands over his face. “And it’s a goddamn miracle you wound up in the hospital! I don’t know how else I woulda got your address, mister!”

Killua’s eyes widened. He looked to Gon, who squeaked in raw, unadulterated terror. “Th-They asked for it at the front desk…” he confessed, wincing. 

“I was worried sick!” Alluka cried, throwing her arms out frantically. “Anyone would have a hernia if their little brother vanished in the dead of the night!”

“That doesn’t give you permission to  _barge in here_ and—” Killua broke off, coughing into his elbow. Alluka turned to Gon and gestured to Killua, as if to say, “ _You see what running away does to a man?_ ”

Gon was too busy staring at her and thinking,  _This woman is related to Killua. I guess beauty_ does _run in the family_ .

Alluka yanked over a chair and sat backwards on it, her arms perched on the backrest, and her eyes honed in on Killua. Gon swallowed hard. He now knew where he recognized that glare. 

She gave a great big huff before propping her chin on her hand and pouting. She looked dejectedly down at the sheets and said, “I was really worried, Killua.”

Gon realized then that this was a  _private conversation_ that he should  _not_ be a part of. He slid awkwardly out of his seat and grabbed his bag as he said, “I should… go… I’ll be out in the lobby—”

“Oh! Give me ten seconds and I’ll go with you,” Alluka said, and Gon was so intrigued by it that he agreed despite the awful glare Killua was giving him. 

Gon hurried out to wait in the hall. Killua cast his glare after him before drawing his attention back to Alluka’s softened expression. Her long brown hair was pulled over one shoulder, and she looked…  _relieved_ .

One thing Killua hated about leaving was that he had to leave her behind, too. 

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” Killua said.

“Mmhm, better be,” Alluka said, smiling. “And you better believe I’ll be visiting you soon. The least I can do is make sure you aren’t living in a warehouse without the owner’s permission.”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” Killua said, voice as dry as the desert.

Alluka pushed to her feet and, looping one leg over the chair, swung it back to the position it was previously found. She reached over and ruffled Killua’s head, much to his distaste, and went off to find Gon. Killua fixed his hair back, scowling all the while, and watched his sister leave with a sour sensation settling in the pit of his stomach.

Gon waited out in the hall for movement to occur at the entrance to Killua’s room. When it did, he perked up at the sight of Alluka stepping past the curtain. She offered a bright smile that had Gon swooning a little. He may have been gay, but he could appreciate a nice smile when he saw one.

Alluka shut the door like a doting mother ensuring that her child wouldn’t wake to the sound of the door closing. As she stepped over, her heels clicked across the tiles and she sighed, tossing her long, flowing brown hair over her shoulder. She walked straight past Gon and said, “Come along—I heard they’ve got  _excellent_ food at the cafeteria.”

“Really?” Gon said, snapping back into motion. “Killua said it tasted awful.”

Alluka examined her nails and said, flippantly, “Yes, well, Killua hates everything. Nothing new there. We already knew he was an edgelord.”

Gon laughed and said, “Wow, so I guess you two  _are_ siblings. No one  _I_ know would say that about Killua.”

Alluka turned to him, fascination turning her face bright. “Oh? And who do you know that would say otherwise?”

Gon rolled his eyes and said, “Our whole class, practically. Maybe even our whole  _major_ . He’s kind of a legend to them.”

“But… not you.”

_Well, living with the guy has sort of soiled my image of him…_ Gon thought, rubbing a finger to his cheek. He winced a little, smiling sheepishly. “Not really. We’re just sort of… friends.”

“Friends,” Alluka repeated. After a moment of walking in silence, she looked to her feet and clasped her hands behind her. Her smile was just as soft as her voice as she said, “I’m glad he’s made a friend. Friends are… precious.”

She tapped the elevator button and together, they waited, and Gon’s conscience dampened with guilt. He wouldn’t consider him and Killua friends, but it seemed like an appropriate lie to prevent Alluka from knowing that they lived together.

But Alluka’s concern pitched Gon into another dilemma—a dilemma that surrounded the mysterious aura that enshrouded his roommate. After that night, Gon was starting to sift through that fog and, upon doing so, found some clarity. However, Alluka’s intrusion certainly muddled it back up.

_Does he not have friends?_ Gon thought, lips pursed as they entered the elevator. He never  _did_ see Killua talk to  _anyone_ other than Kurapika. Gon shook his head.  _Of course he has friends. Kurapika’s his friend!_

The real question was now: Did Killua have any  _other_ friends? And this was the question that concerned Gon the most. He knew what it was like to not have friends, and it was because of this that he cherished Zushi’s instantaneous befriendment. If it weren’t for Zushi, Gon might still be sitting alone at every lecture, but now he had Knuckle and Uvogin as well.

“I’m glad he has someone to look after him if it isn’t me or Canary,” Alluka said.

Gon froze on the very edge of the cafeteria archway. His brain flew itself all the way back to Killua’s bedroom. Alluka glanced back at him as he stammered, “C-Canary?” 

Alluka nodded. “My wife,” she said.

_Oh dear Lord in Heaven above_ , Gon thought, a hand to his forehead. Alluka went on ahead to investigate the food as Gon’s brain imploded because Killua did not, in fact, have a bird fettish.

He just had a dream about… kissing his sister’s wife.

_Does Canary know?_ Gon thought, and the idea that she  _did_ know only made the situation worse.  _What if they’re having an affair?_ he thought in a panic, a hand over his rapidly beating heart. He thought he might throw up.

Living with Killua Zoldyck was certainly a detriment to his heart.

* * *

“Allu…ka…Zold…yck… Ah, there you are,” Gon hummed in the quiet of the hospital waiting room. Alluka was visiting Killua again before the doctors could release him—it was likely the only chance she had to talk to him before he slipped through the cracks of society again.

It also gave Gon a chance to search for Alluka in hopes of finding  _something_ about Canary, and possibly Killua in the process.

Alluka’s Facebook page was headed by a photo of her and a woman with a well-kept afro the size of Jupiter. She reminded Gon of the 70s, but with the class of a modern day business professional. Gon clicked into the photo and checked the tags—the woman was, in fact, Canary Zoldyck, and the ring on her hand that held onto Alluka’s shoulder confirmed everything Alluka had said. 

Gon was able to click onto her page with ease, but Canary’s profile was sparse, and even the photos Alluka posted of the two of them were few and far between. Gon’s brow furrowed in concentration as he scrolled through Canary’s timeline—at least, what was  _available_ to him. There was an older picture of the two of them at a fancy restaurant with some bland-looking gentlemen. A business dinner. 

While there weren’t many pictures of Canary, there were plenty of photos of Alluka. Alluka on a cruise ship. Alluka in Times Square. Alluka hiking. 

_Maybe Canary has a high-profile job?_ Gon thought, because clearly, Alluka wasn’t worried about posting pictures of herself. Gon put a hand to his lips, scowling.  _Or what if their marriage is failing and Alluka’s distain for Canary prevents her from posting pictures of her wife_ —

No, that was too much of a stretch.

The image of the faceless woman waking Killua with a kiss came to mind, only this time, it was Canary dressed in a silk gown, leaning over Killua…

_Unless she knows about the affair!_ Gon cried internally, throwing his arms over his face in horror.

“Hey.”

Gon screamed and nearly chucked his phone across the foyer. He twisted around, slapping his phone to his legs so that Killua wouldn’t see the pictures of Alluka and Canary on his screen. 

Killua rose an unimpressed eyebrow at him. He was dressed in the sweatpants and sweatshirt Gon had snatched from Killua’s closet, and his extra clothes from his work duffle were strewn over his shoulder. 

Gon scrambled to his feet and completely dropped his phone in the process. It smacked onto the carpet, face-up, and Killua looked down at the photo on the screen. He rose his other eyebrow and looked up at Gon.

“Really?” Killua said. “You facebook friends with my sister now?”

“N-No! I was just—”  _Investigating your relationship with Canary_ , he thought, and came damn near close to saying it aloud. 

Killua rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

Gon looked nervously around the foyer and asked, “Where… _is_ your sister?”

“She left.” Gon let out a sigh of relief. Killua started walking away, so Gon chased after him, jogging to catch up. They exited through the sliding doors and, out on the curb along the edge of the parking garage, Gon cleared his throat.

“Alluka seems nice,” Gon said.

Killua sighed, putting his hands in his pant pockets. His hair looked yellow under the parking garage’s tungsten lights. “Yeah, she is,” he said, voice dry. 

Gon rose an eyebrow. “You don’t sound very enthusiastic about that. Did something happen with you two?” Internally, Gon was chanting,  _Please tell me! Please tell me about the affair!_

But alas, Killua would never give in that easily. “Not really. I just didn’t… like living with them.”

“With who?”

Killua groaned and said, “Do you mind? I have a headache and I don’t know where the fuck your car is.”

Gon startled back into motion. “Oh! Right, it’s this way,” he said, about to jog across the parking lot. 

Killua grabbed him by the arm and yanked him back. He staggered out of the path of a car’s headlights cruising over the pavement. Gon stumbled a little as Killua let go of him and said, “Watch where you’re going.”

Gon stared after the car. That could have been  _him_ with a concussion instead of Killua. “R-Right, sorry. This way,” he said, and looked both ways before crossing the parking garage.

As soon as they were settled and seated in Gon’s car, Gon started up the engine and it purred to life in a similar fashion to Killua’s stomach growling with hunger. Gon glanced at him, and Killua put a hand over his stomach with a scowl. 

“Didn’t they feed you?” Gon said. 

“Yeah, but hospital food is shit,” Killua said. 

Gon laughed and put a hand against the back of the passenger’s seat as he looked back to ensure the coast was clear. He pulled out of the parking spot, saying, “Well, I have a lot of food left over from this week. If you want any of it, help yourself.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Killua glanced at Gon for a moment in hesitant curiosity. Sure, they made plans not to share, but… he couldn’t argue against Gon’s want to share. 

As long as it wasn’t Killua’s food, he was fine sharing.

Killua sniffed, resituated himself in his seat, and said, “I might take you up on that offer.”

When they returned home, it was nearly three in the morning. Gon reminded Killua of his promise to leave food in the fridge for him, and Killua rolled his eyes at it. He slipped his boots off and went to the bathroom where he could properly remove his makeup from that night. He softened his mascara and foundation with a towelette and relaxed underneath the cool, refreshing texture on his skin. 

Gon skipped his night routine and went straight to his room to faceplant on the mattress and conk out for the night. It was due to this that he didn’t see Killua emerge from the bathroom, check to make sure the close was clear, and then pull some of Gon’s leftovers from the second shelf in the fridge. 

Killua took the leftovers with him to the kotatsu where he huddled under the comforter, folded over the table, and ate until exhaustion lulled him to sleep. He would just get up… in a bit… and clean up his dishes soon… Maybe in the morning…

In the morning, Gon woke up to Killua’s alarm going off in the other room.

He startled with a curse, only to sigh when he realized that he had about twenty minutes before his own alarm would go off, so it made sense just to  _get it over with_ . Gon threw his sheets aside and rolled off of his mattress. 

He opened his bedroom door with a yawn. He rubbed at his eyes as he shuffled over to the edge of the steps leading down to the main living area. There, he paused, his hand lowering from his eyes as he watched the image of Killua with his cheek on the kotatsu tabletop, his arms folded ver his face so all Gon could see was his mess of white hair.

Killua’s alarm was still blaring behind his closed bedroom door, so Gon padded down the steps and wandered over to the kotatsu to wake him on his own. Gon gave Killua’s shoulder a little shake, and when that did nothing, Gon took Killua by the wrist and started slapping his limp hand on Killua’s head. 

Killua groaned, voice stuffy as he whined, “ _Stop…_ ”

Gon slapped him some more until Killua reclaimed his hand back and pushed himself up. He had a massive red splotch on his cheek from the table. “Your alarm’s going off and I figured you don’t want me to kick you again,” Gon explained, and Killua groaned out a begrudging thanks.

Killua rubbed his hair out of his face and held it back, his elbows on the table, as he watched Gon take his empty dish. His head felt positively  _thick_ with mucus, and though he didn’t want it to happen, he could feel the headcold coming on. He resisted the urge to sniff and instead scowled irritably as he watched Gon put the dishes on Killua’s side of the sink.

Eventually, Killua  _had_ to get up, if only to shut off his damn alarm clock. The liquid in his head sloshed and made him woozy for a moment, so he stood still and collected his bearings. With a sigh, he trudged onwards to go about his day.

Gon packed up two containers of food for the both of them and left one on the table for Killua. He added a post-it note to it, just for clarification, before hurrying off to his room where he wouldn’t see Killua pick up the container. Instead, he was too busy searching for a flash drive of some kind—it had to be somewhere, he just  _knew it_ .

“Aha!” he declared, pulling it from the lockbox under his boxes of clothes. He stuffed it into his backpack and carried it, along with Melvin 2.0, all the way to his car and then to class where he could query Zushi for his help.

“I need access to the recording studios,” he explained the instant he skidded across the hall and into Zushi’s arms.

Zushi steadied him, alarmed, and quirked his head to the side. “We…  _all_ have access to them, you know?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know where they are,” Gon explained.

“Damn, okay then. I’ll show you after class,” he said, and that was precisely what they did after class. 

The recording studios were located in the  _bowels_ of the performing arts building—two floors below the surface, to be exact. There, the walls were all cement brick and florescent lights, and if Gon didn’t know any better, he would have suspected Zushi of luring him down to a freezer to stuff his dead body in.

But Gon was still alive, and Zushi did not, in fact, have a knife, so when Zushi opened up a door, Gon was relieved to find an actual recording studio on the other side. 

“What’re you recording?” Zushi asked as Gon wandered over the threshold.

Gon pulled Melvin 2.0 from his shoulder and propped it against the wall where the rubbery, rippled panels of sound buffers encompassed the room in black. “I just… need samples. I’m planning on asking to perform at a coffee shop near my apartment.”

“Ooh, that’s exciting,” Zushi said. He lingered at the doorway, swaying side-to-side, before asking, “Could I… sit in on the session?”

“Dude, of course,” Gon said, and Zushi leapt with excitement and shut the door behind him.

They fiddled with the microphone so that it settled near the hollow gap on Melvin 2.0’s body, just above the glossy patch on the wood. Zushi helped him set up the recording so that it could be dropped directly onto his flashdrive from the school computer, and from there, Gon began to play.

He perched a foot up on one of the stool prongs and took a deep, calming breath. 

The song began with a relaxing stair of chords that flitted down the fretboard into high pitched notes and up to deep, velvety chords. His fingers danced along the neck of the guitar in fluid, quick beats, pulling short notes into long, streaking sections when he dragged his finger along the strings to pair chords together in the same stroke.

One thing about the building’s basement cooridoors was that, while the rooms were relatively soundproof, the doors… not so much. The hallway on their walk was accompanied by muffled tunes—pianos, drums, even a  _harp_ —and that afternoon, Killua had business recording a group project that ended shortly after Gon started playing his fifth song for Zushi and the coffee shop.

“Have you ever tried singing your songs?” Zushi asked as they were playing back the last track.

Gon’s face flushed from his neck to his ears. He ran his finger along his earlobe, and then the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck. “I, uh…  _used_ to sing. Emphasis on  _used to_ . And I don’t really write lyrics anymore.”

“Why not?”

Gon shrugged. He clasped his hands together between his knees and confessed, “Self-conscious, I guess? It’s… kind of hard to sound like a  _guy_ when I  _sing_ . I get more mezzo-soprano.”

Zushi shrugged, indifferent. “Justin Bieber sounded like a girl before he hit puberty, you know.”

Gon laughed, still rubbing at his hair. He shook his head again, a little more hesitant than before. He used to sing, before he came out, and he even used to sing for his middle school choir. He even managed to score a role in the school play as  _Wendy_ in  _Peter Pan_ . 

He gagged a little at the memory.

Zushi pulled his backpack forward and slipped a notebook out. He flipped through the pages as Gon watched, fidgeting ever so slightly until Zushi turned the page onto him.

There were a few verses written in Zushi’s sloppy handwriting. “I don’t sing,” Zushi said, when Gon looked up at him. “I would if I could! And I think it’s cool that you can, you know… sing. ‘Cause not everyone can.”

“Oh, no, I can’t—”

“I think it’ll go really well with what you have right now,” he insisted, pointing to a section of the song. “Then just the chorus?”

Gon studied Zushi’s hopeful eyes for a moment and decided that his pride could take a hit, just this once. He took the notebook and studied the lyrics for a moment, licking his bottom lip before biting down. 

He murmured the verse under his breath as he repositioned the microphone. He plugged in his earbuds into the school computer to play back the chorus on loop. 

“Am I supposed to, like, to tongue twisters now or…?” Gon said, clearing his throat. 

Zushi pulled his knees up and shook his head, excitement jittering on the very surface for Gon to see. “No, no—just go.”

Gon laughed. He ducked his head down, only to pull back up to put his eyes on the ceiling and sing, the words stretched long across the flurry of chords plucking in his earbuds:

> “‘ _My in…stincts… were to flee—from home,_
> 
> _But I can’t… define what will fix this divide I will—_
> 
> _I… will… find…_
> 
> _You in—due time,_
> 
> _And it’s—terrify—ing—me… beyond… belief—_ ’”

Gon paused the recording and opened his eyes. His gaze flitted past Zushi, who whooped with excitement, and instead focused on the figure of someone passing the window on the door—someone with  _white hair_ that looked  _suspiciously_ like Killua.

“That was amazing!” Zushi cried, muffled through the door. Killua pushed off of the cement wall next to the wooden frame and, with his books under one arm, pushed on.

He didn’t have all day to stand and listen there, but he  _did_ have all day to listen to it in his head, where Gon’s voice had entranced him to stop in the first place. 

Down the hallway, some person from their class was leaving one of the studios and noticed Killua standing outside of Gon and Zushi’s recording room. “Hey, if you’re waiting for a room, you can take mine,” the guy said. 

“No, I’m good,” Killua said, walking past.

“Really, it’s not a problem—”

“I don’t need a fucking room,” he said, and jogged up the stairwell to escape before Gon propped open his studio door to check the empty hallway. 

Zushi leaned out beside him and said, “Who did you see?” in a whisper, like they were in some thriller, action-packed movie in hearing-distance from the enemy. 

Gon saw the guy from their class standing out in the hallway.  _It must have been him_ , Gon thought, pulling the door back. “I think I’m just paranoid,” he said, and shut the door. “Let’s do the rest of the song.”


	14. Carry on Wayward Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [The Bop!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tz6u9suVNlY&list=RDQAo_Ycocl1E&index=10)

**I** t was another (somewhat) early morning at the coffee shop where the spritely blonde manager returned the flash drive to Gon from over the counter. It had spent the night there, in her office where her name was marked on a plaque as “Bisky”, and was now thoroughly reviewed.

“I don’t see why not,” she said, propping her hands on her hips. 

Gon stared at her, speechless. It took a moment for him to realize that he needed to come up with a response— _any_ response—to ensure her that he was still onboard. 

“O-Oh, really?”

_Fuck_ .

Bisky rose an eyebrow at him. “You don’t seem all that excited.”

Gon shook his head, waving his hands about wildly. “I-I am! Trust me, I  _really_ am. My brain just sort of imploded there. I’m—I’m glad you liked my work.”

One of Bisky’s coworkers asked for her assistance with some packages that were dropped off at the back door. Gon stepped back from the counter as Bisky said, “Take a seat somewhere—I’ll be over in a bit to discuss scheduling.”

The café itself was small and narrow, and seating was limited, but outside there were a few tables posted out on the sidewalk. He hesitated at the door, though, and glanced back at where Bisky rolled her sleeves up and heaved three boxes of syrup into the air like it was nothing. Gon’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. Truth be told, he didn’t know a single girl her size with guns like  _that_ , holy  _shit_ . 

Gon recovered himself long enough to claim a seat out at one of the sidewalk tables. He studied the flashdrive he and Zushi had worked on before tucking it into the pocket of his plaid slacks.

When Bisky arrived, she was in the midst of tugging off her apron and folding it over her arm. She took a seat, crossed her legs, and propped an elbow up onto the table. “As you can see, we don’t have that much space for equipment, but if you’ll be bringing anything—speakers… microphones…—we can make it work.”

“Oh, no, I’ll just be doing acoustic,” Gon confessed, waving his hands. “And I don’t—I don’t really  _sing_ much. I had a sample on there, but with the commotion in a coffee shop I don’t know if that will add or detract from the aesthetic.”

Bisky smiled at him and said, “You do have a lovely voice, but I agree. You get a pass this time, but one of these days I hope you can sing for us, Gon.”

Before Gon could get too flustered, Bisky was on to the scheduling part of their meeting. Since Gon would simply be making commission off of tips from customers, Bisky suggested that he come during rush hour times—in the morning before class or around lunchtime. Gon factored it into his class schedule and decided that he could manage Wednesday mornings without a hitch. 

So long as… he  _woke up_ on time…

Gon slapped on his brightest smile for class that day and, upon shimmying through the studio door, he caught eyes with Zushi and struck a pose.

Zushi gasped, throwing his hands down on the tabletop and startling Knuckle awake. “You got the gig!” Zushi said.

Gon broke into a little dance, buzzing with energy, and made his way over to their table. He dropped down, slinging his backpack to the ground beside him, as Zushi slapped his arm repeatedly. “She really liked it! I’m gonna be performing next Wednesday morning.”

“Oh my God, we’ll  _be there_ ,” Zushi promised.

“We?” Knuckle said, groggy. “How early is it.”

Zushi groaned as Gon smiled, propped his chin on his hand, and said, “It’s pretty early. You guys don’t have to come—the café’s pretty puney anyways. And it’s in the Design District, too.”

Zushi shook his head, completely resolute. “Nope. Not too early for me! I’ll be there—and you can count on it.” No one had been this dedicated to Gon since his Aunt Mito and Grandma made a point to fly out to Gon’s middle school summer camp in Wyoming for some theater performance. It made him flustered beyond belief, and it was all he could do to keep from blushing, batting a hand at Zushi, and saying, “ _Golly, you don’t have to do that for little ol’ me_ ,” in a thick southern drawl.

Instead, Gon ducked his head and said, bashfully, “Thanks, Zushi,” and giggled when Zushi gave him a shove on the shoulder.

Their professor walked in, but his entrance was immediately overshadowed by Killua walking in, unperturbed by the attention he drew from all corners of the room. Gon rolled his eyes as Zushi and Knuckle sighed dramatically. He scowled at his notebook as Killua passed them on his way to the back of the classroom. 

Killua had woken up that morning to Gon already gone. He had left behind a container of food on Killua’s shelf and stuck a post-it to it with Killua’s name on it. Killua always had home-cooked meals back at his parents’ place (in-house chefs were brilliant, in his opinion), but when he moved to Alluka’s place, both Alluka and Canary were often too busy to cook. They rotated the responsibility, though Killua had an uncanny habit of burning things. 

When he moved out at the age of seventeen, that all vanished. He hadn’t had a home-cooked meal prepared for him in over a year.

It was… nice.

“ _It’s only until you’re feeling better!_ ” the post-it note said, and he could read it in Gon’s intentionally snobby voice, nose in the air, hands on his hips. 

Killua had scoffed at it and stuck it back onto the container top. It was there when Killua extracted it from his bag as class started, and he could eat in peace at the very back of the classroom.

Their professor was an ancient geezer who refused to go by the formal “Professor Netero” that many professors ordered from their students. Instead, he went by Isaac and emphasized this on the first day of class and every day after when some poor soul tried to pull a “Professor Netero” on him. Perhaps it was because they all knew he was the programs director, but whatever the case, he didn’t tend to  _act_ like an actual professor, anyway.

“Now I want all you kids to get out a sheet of paper—” Immediately students were asking one another if they had a piece of notebook paper to spare. “—and you’re gonna write your name on it and pass it to the front.”

_Oh God_ , Killua groaned internally, reaching for a pen. He clicked it open on his shoulder and scribbled his name down. That bitch Retz was coming up to his row, acting like the teacher’s pet she was by collecting the rows’ stacks of nametags. 

Killua held the slip out to her. She took it with a quick thanks, all while eyeing Killua’s lunch. It was hard to miss the neon-green post-it note on the front. Not only that, but the guy was eating what appeared to be perfectly partitioned sections of food: seasoned brown rice, a salad, and homemade hummus. 

_I knew the guy was a hipster, but who the hell packs a salad for lunch?_ she thought, tapping the stack of names on her palm as she pranced down to the front of the classroom. She passed them to Isaac, who slapped them into an upside-down baseball cap and shook them about. 

Retz went back to her seat and wondered,  _If he’s not living in the dorms anymore, maybe that note was from a roommate? But roommates don’t make food for each other—maybe a girlfriend?_

Little did she know that the culprit was sitting directly in front of her, arms crossed, and still grumbling about Killua. What made Killua so special anyway? Anyone could bleach their hair!  _He’s so rude and condescending, too_ , Gon thought, irritated. He felt all bothered, like when he went down to sleep only to be bombarded by a plethora of toxic thoughts. 

His phone buzzed and Gon weaseled it out of his pocket. The class was distracted anyway due to Isaac laying out the names on the front table in stacks of three. 

> 10:49 **KURAPIKA:** Hey I just wanted to see if you’re still interested in going out again sometime?
> 
> 10:49  **KURAPIKA:** I totally get it if it’s weird, though. I don’t really bring up my profession at all since it can kind of cause problems
> 
> 10:49  **GON:** It probably weeds out the weaklings though, right? :D
> 
> 10:50  **KURAPIKA:** Yeah it does lol
> 
> 10:50  **KURAPIKA:** What do you say?
> 
> 10:50 **GON:** I’d love to go out again! It doesn’t bother me
> 
> 10:50  **KURAPIKA:** Really?
> 
> 10:51  **GON:** Yeah why does that surprise you?
> 
> 10:51  **KURAPIKA:** Cuz Killua says you’re a prude

Gon’s jaw dropped. He put his phone down and twisted around to glare at Killua, only to get caught halfway by Retz startling at his sudden movement. She rose an eyebrow at him, and Gon stumbled out an apology. He turned back around, internally screaming.

Isaac clapped so loud Gon thought his eardrums might fall out. “Alright, class! Here’s what we’re gonna do: In case you weren’t watching, I’ve organized everyone into groups of threes. When I read off your name, I want you to stand and get together with your group. I don’t care  _where_ , just don’t  _bulldoze_ your classmates over, alright? Once that’s all sorted I’ll explain the project.”

“I hate when he does this,” Knuckle groaned, half-covering his face, as if that would avoid getting his name called.

“It’s not that bad…” Zushi sighed. He clasped his hands together on his lap and said, “It increases my chances of being grouped up with Killua.”

“That’s the  _only_ good part,” Knuckle said. 

“You’re hopeless, with a capital ‘Hoe’,” Gon said, and Knuckle cackled as Zushi gasped in horror.

By some stroke of luck, Zushi’s name was called in tandem to Knuckle’s. They both lunged to their feet and slapped their hands together in celebration before gathering their things to meet up with their other teammate. Zushi looked back at Gon with a sympathetic smile, gave him a thumbs up, and said, “Good luck!” 

Gon waved farewell.

“Gon Freecss?” Isaac called. Gon stood up, heart leaping in his chest. Isaac looked down at the next piece of paper. “Killua Zoldyck.”

“Fuck,” Gon whispered, mortified. He couldn’t even look back at Killua because he was rendered frozen by the look of absolute murder on Killua’s face.

“Retz Nichols,” Isaac said, as if this couldn’t  _possibly_ get any worse.

Retz stood up and together, she and Gon turned around to look at Killua, who hadn’t even bothered to stand. Retz looked back at Gon and said, “Well, here we go,” and Gon sighed in agreement. They packed up their things and headed for the back of the classroom.

As he and Retz arrived at the walkway along the side of the classroom, Retz turned to him, put out her hand, and said, “Hey, don’t know if you know or remember, but my name’s Retz.”

“Gon,” he said. “New here.”

She walked alongside him to the back of the class, smiling as she went, and even as they approached a thoroughly unimpressed Killua. “We meet again, old friend,” Retz said.

“We aren’t friends,” Killua said through gritted teeth. Retz took the seat beside him as he said, “And I don’t do group projects. If you two just lay low, I can take care of everything.”

“But it’s a group project,” Gon said, and it prompted both of them to look up at him where he was standing near the entrance of the row. He blushed, scratched at his hair, and said, “I-I mean, we don’t even know what the project  _entails_ yet. And I honestly really like group projects. I don’t mind helping.”

Retz clapped her hands and said, “Neither do I, so that settles it.  _You_ , Mr. Grumpy-Pants, can shove it. We’re all working on the project—as much as I appreciate the freebie offer.”

“Yeah, well, my GPA depends on you two  _not_ fucking up,” Killua said. 

When Gon stepped closer with every intent on claiming the seat on Killua’s other side, Killua pushed his chair back and stuck his foot out to block the path. He crossed his feet at the ankles on the tabletop as Gon rolled his eyes and took the seat beside Retz. 

Their professor called everyone’s attention back to the front of the room, and when Gon looked, he was startled by the number of people staring at them from over their shoulders. Gon swallowed hard and looked hesitantly to Retz, who sighed. 

She leant over to him and whispered, “They’re all jealous.”

“Why?” Gon said, and Retz stared at him like he was growing a second head.

She didn’t have the chance to respond because Isaac was back to the topic at hand: the group project. They would be conducting a research paper on a topic of their choosing—as long as it was on the list that Isaac was now passing around. 

When the paper approached their group, a girl passed it over and said, “We picked number thirteen, but if you guys want that topic instead we’re welcome to switch!”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Gon said, taking the paper.

“They’re trying to smooze up to Zoldyck,” Retz said, and Killua scoffed, snatching the paper from Gon’s extended hand. Gon stared at the both of them until Retz said, “It’s always like this.”

“I don’t need hand outs,” Killua said.

Retz turned to him and asked, “So is it true that your parents died?”

Gon gasped, a hand over his mouth. “Oh, no, that’s so dreadful,” he said.

Killua slapped the paper down and glared at them both. “ _No_ , my parents aren’t  _dead_ . Where the hell did you get that idea?”

Retz shrugged. “Just a rumor going around.”

Killua rolled his eyes and went back to the paper. He studied the topics that were left behind by the other groups and, after a moment, he landed on the fifth option. Retz and Gon leant over.

“‘Classic music in contemporary film’,” Gon said. He hummed, satisfied. “I like that idea.”

“Okay. I’m guessing we’ll have to watch a few contemporary films with classical music in them, then,” Retz said. “Who’s place are we going to? I have a roommate, so my dorm is off limits.”

Clearly, Killua hadn’t considered that. 

“We don’t have to watch it together,” Killua said. 

“We need to discuss it when it’s fresh in our brains,” Retz insisted. “Don’t you have an apartment?”

Killua laughed, hollow and fake. “Right, yeah, we aren’t doing this at my place. Let’s just change our topic. Bards in medieval ages sounds fun.”

“Aw, but I love movies,” Gon whined.

“Let’s do it at your place then,” Retz suggested, and Gon was thrilled by the idea of hosting a movie night. 

“Yeah!” Gon said, gasping, only to stop when Killua stared at him from over Retz’ shoulder with a ‘what-the-actual-fuck’ gesture. “E-Except I… don’t have a TV…”

Killua slapped his hand over his forehead.

“That’s okay, we can just borrow a projector,” Retz said, and Gon couldn’t say no to that face. What he could say no to, however, was the look on Killua’s face. “Do you have roommates?”

“Uh, no, I live alone,” Gon said.

Retz clapped her hands together. “Then that’s perfect! We’ll watch the movies at your place this weekend. Here, I’ll give you my number and we can start a group chat, get it all sorted out.”

Gon stumbled over his words as Retz jotted her number down on a piece of paper in her notebook, tore the corner off, and handed it to Gon. She did the same for Killua, who gave her a plastic smile until she turned away, at which point, Killua propped his elbow up on the back of his chair, leant into Gon’s view, and glared at him.

Gon shrunk in his chair, shoulders, up, and tried his best to ignore the very serious consequences of this conversation with Retz, otherwise known as the major’s most prolific and boundary-breaking journalist the likes of which Nellie Bly would never compare.

Shortly after class ended, Gon left the classroom alongside Retz. She waved farewell to him out in the hallway and, after a second, offered the same to Killua, who slowed beside Gon out in the hallway. Killua stared blankly at her until she left, at which point, Killua turned the full intensity of his glare onto Gon.

Gon flinched. He looked at the ground and said, “I know it’s not ideal, but—”

“I’m not talking to you about this right now,” Killua said. “I work tonight.”

Gon blinked dumbly at the nonchalant comment. “Wha—But aren’t you—?”

Killua stepped closer to avoid speaking up, so that Gon and only Gon could hear him hiss, “ _Don’t_ bring it up. I’m fine.”

At that moment, Zushi and Knuckle emerged from the classroom. Gon gasped in excitement—freedom! At long last!—but he had one thing to take care of before escaping Killua’s furious clutches. 

He turned back to Killua with a graceful smile and said, “Everything will be fine with the project, trust me. And as for work—I don’t think you should go. I’ll talk to you later! Bye!” With that, he bounded off, leaving Killua fuming in his wake.

Zushi and Knuckle were halfway to the building exit by the time Gon caught up with them. Gon slipped between them, threw his arms around their shoulders, and said, “Hey! What’re you guys doing for your project?”

Zushi let out a startled, almost haughty laugh and said, “ _Our_ project? Dude, you’re in a group with  _Zoldyck_ .”

Gon shrugged. “So? Also, that has nothing to do with… me asking about your project…”

“He’s jealous,” Knuckle explained in a half-whisper to Gon, who then dropped his arms from their shoulders.

Zushi let out an annoyed groan, threw his hands down, and said, “Yeah, well, so are you! We spend a whole semester with the guy and Gon swoops in and manages to land himself in a group with Killua!”

“What? I don’t understand—he’s just a person,” Gon said. He glanced nervously over his shoulder, but thankfully, Killua was long gone by then.

“The  _hottest person alive_ ,” Zushi whined, stomping his foot. 

“I don’t think so!” Gon said, and maybe part of that was true. For the most part, though, he was blinded by his annoyance for Killua. Maybe— _just maybe_ —if they weren’t roommates, Gon could swoon from afar the way Zushi and Knuckle did. 

He was too close for comfort, though.

Zushi blinked at him, startled. He glanced at Knuckle, who scratched the side of his head and said, “You… don’t think he’s hot… Bro, I thought you were gay?”

Gon groaned. “I  _am_ , but not for him! Trust me! What’s this all about? It’s a group project!”

“It’s a  _gateway_ to a  _relationship_ , is what it is,” Zushi said. He crossed his arms, furiously. After a moment he turned a bashful eye onto Gon and said, “So… you don’t like him?”

Gon shook his head, eyes wide with horror. Was he really going to lose his first university friends over a  _group project_ with the resident  _hottie?_ How fickle were these people?

“Of course not! And I have another date with Kurapika soon anyway, so—”

Zushi let out a relieved sigh and said, “Oh thank God.”

Gon let out a nervous laugh and said, “Were you really just gonna drop me over some random anime-looking dude?”

“Nah, nah, nah— _not_ just some ‘random anime-looking dude’,” Knuckle corrected. “Some random  _bisexual_ anime-looking dude.”

Gon rolled his eyes and said, “Oh, pardon me. How could I ever.”

Zushi threw his arms around Gon and pushed him towards the door, saying, “And we wouldn’t drop you! You gotta understand everything at stake, my guy! An entire semester’s worth of—!”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, I get it,” Gon laughed, and continued to giggle as Knuckle and Zushi explained in depth, with fervor, how much Killua Zoldyck meant to them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short lil chapter cuz I don't know how much time I'll have to write in the next few weeks...


	15. Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killua's dumb ass has some errands to run. Meanwhile, Gon's dumb ass runs straight into an unexpected guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Bop.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TjPhzgxe3L0&list=RDLcJm1pOswfM&index=4)

**“S** -Silver! What are you doing here?” Leorio stammered in the face of a handful of patrons at the bar. 

Killua wasn’t exactly sporting his Sunday Best—in fact, he was still in his clothes from class that day and wearing an equally dreary expression. If his head cold wouldn’t get the best of him, dealing with patrons certainly would.

He ignored the urge to sniff and cough at the same time. “I’m here to talk to Chrollo. He’s not in his office, though. Know where I can find him?”

One of the patrons—a familiar lad who had a habit of bringing his work friends around—leant back in his chair, eyed Killua, and said, “Barely recognized you with all those clothes on, sweetie.”

Killua offered a tight, restrained smile and said, “Unfortunately, I’m never in a good mood when I have clothes on. Let’s chat again when I’m feeling less  _restricted_ .”

He moved on down the bar to chat with Leorio, and his comment gave the customers enough content to keep themselves busy with laughter and lewd commentary that made Machi crack her knuckles threateningly at the end of the bar.

Killua propped his elbow up on the edge of the bar top as Leorio said, “There’s a bachelorette party happening in the VIP room. He’s friends with the bride so he’s paying her a visit.”

Killua could have rolled his eyes. Chrollo had plenty of “ _lady friends_ ” from his past life as a bartender at a standard strip club. Now all of the strippers he made contact with had either A) successfully swindled a rich gentlemen in their youth and was now happily married, B) making money through online gigs, or C) graduated with a PhD. 

And Chrollo wasn’t a bartender for nothing: he was handsome, charismatic, and a manipulative bastard. Plenty of his “ _lady friends_ ” were past conquests twisted to seem like  _she_ bested  _him_ . 

At the thought of Chrollo, Killua’s eyes slid across the floor to Kurapika’s stage, which was empty that night. “Are you and Kurapika talking at all?” he asked, turning back to Leorio.

Leorio shook his head. “No, but I’ve heard he’s been staying at someone else’s place. Has he talked to you? I saw he helped you to the hospital the other day.”

“Yeah, and I’m still pissed about it,” Killua said with a groan. He rubbed at the back of his throbbing head and said, “Now my sister knows where I live. It’s just… super inconvenient, to be honest.”

“That’s not Kurapika’s fault, though,” Leorio said, and rationally, Killua knew that. He understood the terror of accidental head traumas and Kurapika and Gon just wanted to ensure Killua did have, oh, you know, a  _subdermal hematoma_ go unchecked. 

He could make all of the excuses he wanted, but the fact of the matter was this: That Killua wasn’t ready to talk to Kurapika. Not yet. 

“I’m… gonna go see Chrollo now. About that thing,” Killua said, gesturing to the stairs.

“Right. That ‘thing’,” Leorio teased, and Killua flipped him off before making his way to the stairs. 

He hurried up to the VIP section of the club where, beyond the railing, the room was enshrouded in red lighting and deep, violet shadows from the black lights. The state of Killua’s drabby appearance didn’t matter quite so much there, not when his hair did all of the work for him as it glowed white under the black lights. 

Killua crossed the room where a group of girls were downing blowjob shots off of a stripper’s stomach.  _Impressive_ , he thought to himself at the sheer level of expertise at which the girls conducted the shots. Killua was impartial to downing blowjob shots like that—it tended to make him gag, no pun intended.

Much to his surprise, though, Chrollo was the silver platter on which the shots were being balanced. 

Killua stilled at the image of Chrollo stretched out on the table, his hands clasped behind his head, looking more or less like a Greek statue come to life. Chrollo glanced over at Killua, only to startle at the sight of the last worker he expected to see that night. 

“What are you doing here?” Chrollo said, ignoring the liquor that spilled across his stomach when one of the girls failed to balance a shot glass on his pectoral. 

“I… came to talk about that party I was booked for this weekend,” Killua said. 

“Oh, I’ve already taken care of it,” he said. “Scheduled someone else to take your place.”

That was the opposite of what Killua intended. “No, I can do it,” he said. “Which is why I came in to show you that I am, in fact, all right.”

“I don’t care. You aren’t performing, especially when it entails going to someone’s house where we can’t keep an eye on you in case you faint again,” Chrollo said. 

Killua sighed. Sure, there were dangers associated with attending bachelorette parties as a foreplay spectacle, but it was good money and enjoying, for the most part. It thrilled the people who hired him—primarily women—and he had fun indulging in their opulent lifestyles for a night, especially with liquor was involved.

It wasn’t often that Killua was selected for such affairs. He didn’t have the bulky physique of a body-builder who could double as a pseudo police officer just to satiate a horny woman’s fantasies—that tended to be the go-to for such affairs.

It was interesting how being selected for a bachelorette party made Killua feel infinitely more special than being oogled at by gay men at a bar. 

“The last thing I want is you giving our clients the flu.”

Killua rolled his eyes. “I don’t have the flu,” he said, and immediately coughed into his elbow. 

One of the girls gave him a gentle pat on the back and said, “It’s better than giving your clients chlamydia.”

Killua gave her a weird look as she walked away and said, “Uh, thanks? I guess?”

Chrollo plucked the glasses off of his stomach and offered one to Killua as he straightened up. Killua took it, still frowning from the news that he wouldn’t, in fact, be working that night. Chrollo clinked their glasses together before downing his shot and saying, “I know that hospital run wasn’t ideal—”

“Yeah, pushed be back a couple grand,” Killua muttered.

“But that’s no reason to work yourself ragged again,” Chrollo said. He shrugged and added, “We’ll figure it out— _after_ you stop sniffling.”

“I’m not sniffling,” Killua muttered, voice thick with mucus.  _God_ , he hated being sick. “Thanks, though. I mean it.”

“Any time,” he said.

The girls came back and one was wearing the wedding veil. She plopped it on Chrollo’s head and passed her phone to Killua, saying, “Could you take a picture of all of us?” 

Killua agreed, stepped back, and waited for the group to consolidate around a shirtless Chrollo. He focused the camera on the lot of them and said, “Okay, three… two… one—!” and snapped the photo.

He left shortly after.  _The Phantom_ was one check on his list of errands to run, and the next would take him downtown. He hopped on the next bus heading in that direction and, with his backpack secured squarely on his shoulders, he made his way to the address listed on his messages with Pariston Hill.

He wandered around a block of brightly-lit store fronts and elegant jewelry. Down the row of shops, he found his target: a men’s apparel store, specifically for suits. 

Killua hadn’t been fitted for a tux in a while, but he remembered the experiences well enough to know that he would automatically be targeted as a newbie based on his appearance alone. Bleached hair, backpack, and a hoodie—ah yes, the epitome of class.

He could articulate what he needed, though, and the materials he preferred, so it was only a matter of obtaining the measurements. With his backpack and hoodie set aside, Killua stood on the platform in nothing but his jeans and tshirt while the tailor tallied off the length of his arms, his waist, chest, and neck. The man stretched the tape measurer over the back of Killua’s shoulder blades, and then again down the length of his torso. With Killua’s arms stretched out, he measured the circumference of Killua’s biceps, which seemed more intimidating in the foreign mirror standing across the platform from him. He wasn’t used to seeing himself under florescent lights—maybe that was it.

He lowered his arms after the tailor finished. He rubbed a hand over his bicep and down to his forearm, massage the muscles as the tailor gave him an estimated pickup date, as per Pariston’s request. 

“ _So the fitting was a success?_ ” Pariston said over the phone that evening as Killua left the store.

“I’d say so,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t want to collaborate on colors?”

“ _Colors aren’t really my forte_ ,” he said, and Killua rolled his eyes. He supposed not  _all_ queer men were adamant fashionistas. He wouldn’t even consider  _himself_ all that inclined to—

The image of Gon trying on clothes in the dressing room came to mind. 

Killua caught himself staring across the street just as Pariston said, “— _sound good?_ ” 

Killua shook his head, clearing his throat and mind of Gon’s graphic tees. “I- um, yeah. Could you repeat that for me?”

“ _I’ll be back next weekend. Both of our suits should be in by then. Does Saturday morning sound good?_ ”

“Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll put it in my calendar,” Killua said. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“ _Have a nice night, Silver_ ,” he said before hanging up. 

Killua lowered his phone with a vague sense of confusion muddling his senses. He stood there long after the walk signal chimed, simply studying what had to be frayed wires in his brain that brought that image up in such startling clarity. He really should  _not_ be thinking about his roommate right now in the middle of San Fancisco. 

“Fucking hell,” he decided, and hurried across the street before his time was up.

Killua’s trip back to the apartment would have been uneventful had Gon’s day  _not_ been so eventful. He didn’t expect his day to get worse after being grouped up with Killua and Retz for an essay project, but God decided to throw him a solid bitch-just-you-wait move. 

Gon wandered up the stairwell to the second floor of his apartment complex, yawning with exhaustion. He had an entire set to plan for the coffee shop, dinner to make, and homework to start. Because of this, he grew too distracted to look up from his set of keys to realize that someone was waiting outside of his apartment door, perched on the windowsill at the very end of the hallway.

Gon sifted through his keys only to drop them the instant his name was called from the end of the hall.

“Jesus H. Christ!” Gon squeaked, terrified, as his keys slapped to the ground.

He looked up and found Alluka Zoldyck standing there, dressed magnificently, and concern etched on her brow. 

“A-Alluka!” Gon cried. 

Alluka’s eyes dropped to the keys on the ground, which Gon swiped up, only to freeze at the realization of what this must have looked like.

“I… came to check in on Killua,” she explained as Gon straightened back up, the teeth of the keys biting into his palm. “Which begs the question: Why are you here with a set of keys to his apartment? I thought he’s renting a studio.”

“He is! I mean—”

_Fuck_ , Gon thought.  _Killua doesn’t want people to know we live together. That’s the number one priority here!_

_Right?_

“I just… have his spare key,” Gon lied through a feeble smile that could have been snapped in half by Alluka’s stiletto heels.

Instead, Alluka studied him for a moment, eyes narrowing just a fraction. To diffuse the situation, Gon hurried to the door and started opening it, stumbling through the motions of inviting her inside. “I-I’m sure Killua wouldn’t mind if you came in. As long as you take your shoes off, I mean—”

He opened the door wide and stepped aside. The instant he did, Alluka leant in, close enough for Gon to smell her flowery perfume. 

A squeak escaped him. Alluka rose an eyebrow at him before leaning back with an amused grin. She folded her arms over her chest, cocked her hip to the side, and said, “I can only picture Killua giving his significant other a key to his place. You two are dating, aren’t you?”

“Oh! Um, I—”

Alluka let out a thrilled laugh and sidled over the threshold, exclaiming, “So  _that’s_ why he moved out! You must spend a lot of time here, huh?”

“I-I don’t know about that—” Gon stammered, tripping over the entry step. He cursed under his breath as Alluka continued on, heels clicking across the floorboards. “Could you maybe take your shoes off? I don’t—Killua doesn’t like shoes on the floor—”

“Oh, he won’t mind,” Alluka said, hands now resting firmly on her hips. 

Gon’s shoulders slumped, and he only then realized that he missed his opportunity to dispute Alluka’s theory. He had no alternative ideas as to why Killua would give him a spare key. It was only a matter of time now before Killua’s fury came crumbling around him for encouraging Alluka’s preposterous notions.

Gon wanted to gag. 

_Killua’s significant other?_ he thought, resisting the urge to throw up and laugh at the same time. He’d rather eat dirt!

It was a miracle that Killua’s bedroom door was shut. Since it was off from the kitchen, it looked like an extra pantry. As for Gon’s room, the door was still open and Alluka strode right in with her heels clicking beneath her, skirt swishing around her ankles. 

“Wait! Wait—Killua doesn’t like people going into his room—” Gon started, frantic, as Alluka started going through the boxes he had his clothes stored in. 

“He really doesn’t have a dresser for these? How sad,” she hummed. She dropped to her knees, pouting, “I should have taken him furniture shopping. That’s what older sisters do, right?”

Gon picked the clothes out of her hands and stuffed them back into the boxes. “I don’t really know. I don’t have older sisters. Could you please take off your shoes?” 

Alluka got to her feet and went to Gon’s mattress. She lifted it off of the ground and said, “No bedframe… No mattress cover… This just won’t do—”

She dropped the mattress down and left the room. Gon hurried to fix his sheets before chasing after Alluka as she said, “As Killua’s older sister, I have to make sure he’s properly taken care of.”

“R-Right,” Gon said, only to startle when Alluka ground to a halt. Gon skidded into her back and scrambled away, flustered and red in the face when she eyed him. 

“And clearly, he has someone half-decent on his side for once,” she said. Gon blinked.  _Who could that be?_ he thought.

He cursed internally.

_Shit, that’s me. She’s talking about me_ , he realized. 

“He hasn’t had the easiest life, you know,” she explained before Gon could dispute it all, come clean right then and there. He wasn’t at all the person she thought he was.

But at the mention of Killua’s life, the intrigue was there and too tempting for Gon to ignore.

“O-Oh. Really?” Gon said, the lilt in his voice prompting Alluka to continue.

“Yeah, I mean, what with our mother grooming him to be the heir to the family fortune…” she started, walking towards the kitchen as Gon stumbled over  _that_ nugget of information as he chased after her. “So he didn’t even  _go_ to university for what he  _wanted_ . It was a good thing he graduated early from high school, you know. He’s on track now and all that—”

_Graduated early?!_ Gon thought, eyes wide. 

Alluka sifted through the cabinets. She was swift in her search, and, high above their heads, she found her target tucked away behind a collection of travel mugs and water bottles. They clanked and clinked and out popped a bottle of wine. 

_Where did that come from?_ Gon wondered, seeing as neither he nor Killua were above the drinking age. 

Alluka went on, raising her voice so Gon could hear her. “Don’t get me wrong, Killua  _loves_ marketing and business. He’s got such a knack for it, you know? But he’s not exactly the type to invest in Big Pharma. He’d rather invest in  _talent_ . He’s really dedicated in that regard.”

Alluka took the bottle with her to the kotatsu where she plopped down and plucked her shoes off at long last. As Alluka cracked into the bottle of wine and drank it with her hand around the neck of it, Gon gathered her shoes up and hurried to deposit them in the foyer.

“Big Pharma?” Gon repeated, eyes wide. He hurried back to the living area as Alluka propped her elbow up on the table and sighed. “What do you mean?”

She waved a dismissive hand and said, “That’s what our family does. Old money, stock investments, funding pharmesudical research. Soul-sucking bullshit, if you ask me.”

Gon took a seat across from her at the kotatsu. “So Killua left to enroll in his own major?”

Alluka set the bottle down as she hummed, “Perhaps,” and plucked the cap off of a tube of lipstick. She ran it along her bottom lip before popping her lips together. “Or perhaps it was for you. I’d like to think that it’s because he’s learning what love is. Canary and I aren’t the greatest example.”

“Wh-What makes you say that?” Gon stammered, eyes widening at the mention of Canary again. He could vividly recall Killua’s lips on his, the strong tension at the back of his neck when Killua’s hand pulled him forward—

“Ah-ah,” she scolded, waving her lipstick at Gon. She put a finger to her lips, smiling, and said, “Questions you shouldn’t ask a girl.”

Gon rolled his eyes. “And here I thought gender was nonexistent.”

“A social construct, if you will,” she agreed. She put her hands down and sighed. “Then I suppose I could tell you. A futile excuse. You saw right through me.”

“Only because some might say I was once a girl. I know  _all_ of your tricks,” Gon teased, and that piqued Alluka’s interested.

“Oh? Do tell.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Only because I’m older, ergo  _I_ decide the rules. That still counts, doesn’t it?”

Gon grumbled internally. Gender may have been a social construct, but age made sense to him. “Alright, fine, you get a pass. I’m actually… trans, I guess.”

“You guess?” she laughed. Gon blushed. “Ah, well, that makes two of us.”

If Gon was standing, he would have fallen over right onto his back. Instead, he started choking on nothing but air. He coughed into his elbow, gasping, “Y-You—! I didn’t—”

“Yes, well, isn’t that the point,” Alluka hummed, an amused grin tugging at the corner of her lips. She shrugged before taking a sip of wine and adding, “Well, for me, that is the point. I transitioned nearly a decade ago. Perks of having a wealthy family who doesn’t care much  _what_ you do. I was on the lower rung of my parents’ concerns.”

Gon cleared his now-sore throat and said, “O-Oh, and what about Killua?”

“The highest rung,” she declared with a flamboyant gesture. “And I felt terrible after Canary and I moved in together, you know leaving him behind. After the wedding, with all of the commotion, Killua filled the back of our car with his things while Mother was doting over Canary’s suit. In other words: Killua secretly moved in with us for a while.”

“And then what?”

“And then… he moved into the dorms first semester. And then here second semester,” she said. Her lipstick left a red spot on the edge of the bottle. “I’m surprised he hasn’t told you much about me.”

“He’s not big on talking about his family,” Gon said, thinking to himself,  _Or his life in general_ …

“I mean, that’s fair. If our older brother Illumi was that obsessed with  _me_ ,  _I’d_ definitely high-tail it out of there,” Alluka said, and Gon sputtered uselessly for a response until Alluka said, “Did he tell you that Illumi has a shrine of Killua in his bedroom?”

“N-No! I didn’t even know he had an older brother—”

“Anyway,” Alluka sighed, dreamily, and Gon never  _did_ experience whiplash until that moment. His head spun as Alluka went on, studying the apartment as she said, “I was wrong about all of this, really. When I found out Killua got himself an apartment, I got a little concerned, you know, with Mercury in retrograde. You’re not supposed to sign contracts when Mercury’s in retrograde—and that’s a  _fact_ .”

_Well, I wish someone would have told me that_ , Gon thought, frowning.

“But it looks like Killua’s fitting in nicely here. I’m glad,” she said. She clasped her hands together and asked, “So when does he get back?”

In that same exact moment, Killua was returning from his tux fitting. It was dark out all except for the street lamps making it feel like daytime in the hallway outside of their apartment door. 

His silhouette cast a long shadow through the deep blue lighting in the hallway. There, it remained for several long moments that stretched like minutes into hours. He could see the faint streak of light under the doorway—probably from the living room, which meant that Gon was home. 

After spending the day letting the dread from their group project seep into his pores, Killua admitted that it was far better to team up for this project. If he and Gon had to deal with Retz, it was better to do so together. 

So all he needed to do was… go inside… and talk to the guy.

_Right. I can do this_ , he told himself, but fuck it—he was never great at Team Bonding.

He stuck his key into the door handle and turned the lock. When he pushed the door open, he started to take off his shoes as he said, “Hey Gon, I was thinking about the project today and—”

“Killua, I—” Gon started, only to be cut off by a  _very_ familiar,  _very_ preppy voice interrupting in a barrage of adoration along the lines of, “Killua! Killua, I missed you so so much!”

Killua tripped over the step. He barely caught his balance before his sister came into view, skidding in front of the foyer doorway and completely blocking the view of Gon leaning into view. “Guilty” was written all over that rat bastard’s face. 

Killua stilled, shocked, as Alluka flew at him and crushed him into a hug. As the shock faded, he dropped his arms around his sister and looked at Gon from over her shoulder. Gon was now on his feet, looking frantic as he pointed to Alluka frantically. Killua put a hand out and mouthed, “ _Yeah, I fucking know, dude,_ ” but Gon wouldn’t let up. He was trying to mouth something while gesturing to the both of them.

Killua squinted at him as Alluka whined into Killua’s shoulder, “I just want to spend the night with you… It’s been so long since we’ve hung out…”

Gon pointed to the open bedroom door— _Gon’s_ bedroom.

_Fuck_ , Killua thought. Of fucking course Alluka, of all people, would find out he had a roommate. 

“Yeah, sorry, it’s hard… inviting people over since I’ve got—” Killua started.

“A boyfriend,” Gon finished, and at that, Alluka pulled back with a gasp and said, “That’s right!”

Killua wondered if this was what it felt like to have a stroke.

Alluka slapped him on the shoulder, and it was like striking a gong. It rattled through Killua’s skull as she said, “Why didn’t you tell me! You should have told me at the hospital, silly, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m your  _sister_ , for Chrissake!”

Killua rubbed at his arm as Alluka marched off with a pout and went to Gon, who took a hesitant step back before he was captured in a side-hug with Alluka. 

“B-Boyfriend?” Killua stammered, bewildered, appalled, mortified. 

But most of all: confused?

Alluka rubbed Gon’s spikey hair and said, “Gon’s such a lovely guy—Did you think I wouldn’t like him?”

“I, um—” Killua started, voice cracking. His heart was pounding so goddamn fast.  _Fuck_ , he thought,  _it’s been a while since I’ve done drugs. Is it hot in here? Did Chrollo put something in that shot?_

Gon broke away from Alluka and hurried over to Killua, saying, “I have to tell you something. Alluka, could you give us a moment?”

“Of course,” she said, sweet as a peach, and with that, Gon dragged Killua into the bathroom on his left. Killua’s half-shouldered backpack slipped to his hand as Gon nearly hit him in the head with the door as he swung it shut.

The bathroom wasn’t exactly  _huge_ and the closest Killua had ever been to the guy was in his car and the day Gon kicked him in the abdomen. 

Gon put his back to the door, gasping like he had just run a mile. Clearly, it seemed, Alluka thought they were  _dating_ and Killua could only imagine what was going through Gon’s head. 

“ _You little—_ ” Killua seethed, jabbing a finger at him.

“It wasn’t my idea, I  _swear_ ,” Gon whispered quickly, his hands held up in surrender. His eyes were wide, wild, and as genuine as ever. 

Killua was furious though, and since Gon wasn’t the culprit, he had to direct it somewhere. “What the  _hell_ is going on,” he hissed, gesturing to the door where Alluka was likely eavesdropping. 

“She was waiting in the hall when I got here—I had no idea she was here,” Gon said, voice hushed. 

They both looked back at the door, and then down to the crack along the floor to check for the shadows of Alluka’s feet. She wasn’t there. Unbeknownst to them, she was nursing the wine bottle at the kotatsu, pleased as could be.

“She thinks you gave me a spare key and came to her own conclusions. I just went along with it ‘cause I didn’t—I wasn’t sure if you wanted her to know that—”

Killua bristled, teeth clenched tight as he seethed through them, “No, definitely not. This is… This works.”

Gon blinked dumbly at him. “I-It does?” he said. “How—? I mean, yeah. Yes, it works perfectly.”

Killua narrowed his eyes at him, crossing his arms. “I said it  _works_ , I didn’t say it was  _perfect_ .”

Gon rolled his eyes. “Oh, you know what I meant.”

“This is  _far_ from perfect.”

With a scoff, Gon said, “Right, because you’re the  _last_ person I’d want to date.”

Very rarely, Gon lied, but he often didn’t know it until the words came out and he felt them burn in the back of his throat like the urge to cry. This time, though, it was easy for him to punch the feeling down so far that he determined that it was nothing but a pinch of guilt from having said something so damning.

Killua, on the other hand, felt the punch to his gut in a way he hadn’t expected. Before he could analyze it, or even speak for that matter, Gon let out a weird noise of horror and scrambled for the door. 

“W-We should get back. Alluka got into your bottle of wine,” he said.

Killua kicked back into gear in an instant. Dread shoved him forward with a panicked, “She  _what?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao updated the tags


	16. Closing Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [The Bop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=970Lq2M_ld0)

**A** t around midnight, Alluka passed out on Gon’s bed thinking it was Killua’s, pulled the blankets over her head, and ceased to exist for the night. Not only that, but she raided Gon’s clothes and, considering most of his old clothes were oversized to hide his body, they fit her swimmingly. 

Killua and Gon stared in absolute dismay at Alluka completely passed out in Gon’s bedroom before Killua reached over for the door handle and gently closed the door. 

The moment it was closed, he closed his eyes and steadied himself against the doorframe. “I’m…  _so_ sorry about this,” he said.

Gon crossed his arms with a smirk and said, “Did… Did you just  _apologize?_ To  _me?_ The Great Killua Zoldyck  _apologizing—_ ”

As if Killua’s stuffy head wasn’t already  _throbbing_ , it abruptly rendered him useless. He couldn’t speak, much less defend himself—not when he was  _this_ exhausted and fed up with life. 

He went to his room and disappeared behind the door. Gon bit his lip and looked away, rubbing a hand beneath his chin as he wondered aloud, “Maybe that was a bit harsh…” in a hushed voice. 

A moment later, though, Killua emerged again, this time with his arms full of blankets. 

He dropped them next to the kotatsu, brushed his hands off, and said, “In case she wakes up, we should both sleep out here—since she doesn’t know about my  _actual_ room.”

“R-Right,” Gon agreed. He blinked, speechless for a moment, before he realized what they were doing. He gasped. “Like a slumber party?!”

Killua frowned. “No—”

“I can’t remember the last time I had a slumber party,” Gon said, thrilled. He ran to get ready for bed, at which point, Killua gave up trying to fight it and instead set to work unfolding the blankets into makeshift sleeping bags.

When they were both ready for sleep, the two of them settled under the covers, their backs turned to one another. Gon, facing the window, and Killua, facing the kitchen. It was a dreadful period of silence, one that sent Gon’s anxiety into overdrive. 

How could he say something so hurtful, even to Killua? He had no excuses for treating Killua like that, no matter how rude Killua tended to be. Gon clenched his fists into the blanket and pulled his knees up, tense and frustrated with himself for always blurting out the first thing on his mind.

Gon heard the blankets rustle several feet away from him. He heard Killua turn onto his back before sighing, the covers pulled up to his chin.  _Still awake_ , Gon thought, hesitant to look over his shoulder.

After a moment of silence, Gon cleared his throat and said, quietly, “I thought you were working tonight.”

“In a way,” Killua whispered, eyes on the ceiling. 

Intrigued, Gon really did look over his shoulder. Killua’s face was enshrouded in moonlight. “What does that mean?” Gon asked. He really didn’t understand the club business, and his imagination tended to run wild.

Killua glanced at Gon before looking away. Gon turned away. He wasn’t sure why he expected Killua to answer him.  _Killua’s work is off limits_ , Gon reminded himself, and he’d just have to be happy with knowing what, exactly, Killua’s work even  _was_ .

But then, Killua said, “I’ve been hired to be an escort. For one of my regulars.”

Gon’s brow furrowed. He pushed up onto his elbow and turned back to Killua, an eyebrow raised. Killua looked at him out of the corner of his eyes and said, “You don’t know what an escort is, do you.”

“Not at all,” Gon confessed, slumping with a sigh. He flopped back onto his pillow. “What do you do?”

He shrugged. “I’m basically… arm candy to a sugar daddy.”

“Amazing. For how long?”

“Just a night. We’re going to an event and that’s it. My fitting was today.”

“For, like… a suit?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“I guess.”

“And it’s all paid for?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you get to keep the suit afterwards?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Damn. That sounds nice.”

They fell silent for as long as it took Gon’s brain to wrap back around to Alluka. Gon turned to Killua and whispered, “Hey, you never mentioned that your sister was trans, too.”

Killua scoffed. “You never asked,” he said, borderline snickering like the devil he was. Gon wrestled his pillow out from under his head to swing it around to smack Killua. Killua punched it off to the side as Gon sat up, throwing the pillow down onto his lap.

“Your sister is incredible,” Gon said. He looked down at his lap, pinching the hem on his pillow case. “I’m glad I got to meet her. And that she’s okay with me.”

“Chances are she’s just  _thrilled_ at the prospect of me dating,” Killua said as he turned onto his side. Gon frowned as Killua said, “I’m going to sleep.”

“‘Kay,” Gon whispered, dejectedly, and returned to his padded mound of blankets for the night. It would take an hour before he was able to fully fall asleep, but he felt content knowing that in the morning, he’d get to talk to Alluka one last time.

* * *

Wednesday came swiftly after a weekend of writing papers and practicing for his date with destiny (the coffee shop). That previous Sunday, he had treated Kurapika to a chai there and as the two of them sat together at the window, Gon explained that he would be playing there that week.

Kurapika had leant against the counter, propped his chin on his fist, and smiled at Gon as he said, “Tell me what time and I’ll be there.” It made Gon almost too flustered to answer, but he did, and now he had to expect that Kurapika would follow through. He’d be performing for everyone in San Francisco that mattered to him—Kurapika, Zushi, Knuckle, and Uvogin.

He considered asking Killua to come as well, but the chances of that happening were slim to none. Little did he know, however, that Kurapika had already asked Killua on his behalf.

“I’m gonna be in the Design District on Wednesday,” Kurapika said off-handedly that same Sunday night at  _The Phantom_ .

Killua squinted at him. It was a slow night, and so the two of them decided to share the first stage in the club—a long stretch that connected two poles by a walkway. Beneath them, the tiles on the stage glowed in bubbles of pinks and blues. 

“Why the Design District?” Killua asked. Kurapika had no reason to suspect that Killua even lived near there.

“There’s this coffee shop Freecss is performing at. I didn’t realize he played guitar,” Kurapika explained. Killua’s brain left the station, only to arrive once again as Kurapika concluded, “You should come with me.”

“No. No way,” Killua said, shaking his head.

Kurapika groaned, slumping down the pole like Killua’s rejection was too much to bear. “He  _knows_ though. About the club and shit. Are you really still mad at me?” Kurapika whined, but Killua was already halfway back to his own pole. “Come  _on!_ I don’t want to go alone!” 

Kurapika continued to badger him from that moment onwards at every opportunity he could. From the bar to the VIP rooms to the goddamn bathroom, Kurapika was there begging Killua to come with him. His reasoning: That Gon was worth Killua’s time, if only for half an hour at the puniest café on the block.

By the end of the night, Killua was too tipsy and tired to bother arguing. “ _Fine_ . Alright, fuck it. I’ll go or whatever,” he said, pouting off to the side as Kurapika threw his fists in the air and yelled, “ _FUCK YEAH!_ ”

“What’s going on?” Leorio prompted from behind the bar, a hand on his hip and the other on the bar top. 

Killua took a seat and started with, “You, getting me a drink,  _that’s_ what’s going on—” while Kurapika said, “Silver’s coming with me to see the guy I’m gonna fuck.”

The way in which Killua’s brain and heart stopped.

Killua looked, bewildered, over at Kurapika. Kurapika was shimmying in a little premature-celebratory jive while Killua’s brain revolved around “ _they guy he’s gonna fuck—the guy he’s gonna fuck—the guy he’s—_ ”

“Wait, hold up, you never mentioned that,” Killua said, acutely aware that his voice nearly cracked just like his patience. He cleared his throat before that could happen. 

“You know how Kurapika works, dude,” Leorio said, gesturing to the state of Kurapika in all his sexy glory.

Kurapika jabbed a finger in Killua’s face, a smug grin on his lips as he said, “ _Suck it_ . I get dibs.”

“I—I never  _asked_ for dibs,” Killua said, alarmed. “I just think—I mean, he seems like the long-term type of guy—” He didn’t want to say it out loud, but he had his suspicions about the “ _energy_ ” Freecss excuded, and it all read in fine print: “ _virgin_ ”. 

And while Killua didn’t care one way or the other about virginity as a social construct, he  _did_ care— _very, very little_ —about Kurapika’s preferences. Something told him that handcuffs and the like weren’t on Freecss’ radar. 

“He seems kinda vanilla, dude,” Killua tried uselessly, but Kurapika said, “They’re all vanilla before I bring the chocolate, you know what I’m saying?”

Killua slapped a hand over his forehead. He accepted the drink Leorio passed him and blindly took a sip of it.

“I’m sure it will be fine. What’s this meetup about, though? Can’t be serious enough for you to start introducing friends,” Leorio commented, and Killua thought the same. 

“Silver already knows the guy,” Kurapika said, cautious to use Killua’s stage name since they were within earshot of customers chatting down the bar. 

“Really?” Leorio said, and Killua spared a second to peer between his fingers at the guy. Killua grumbled to himself furiously, looking off to the side. “Is this the guy from the theater?”

“ _Hell_ yes,” Kurapika said. 

“I’m just  _saying_ ,” Killua started again, and the instant he did, he heard the alcohol slurring his voice. He couldn’t stop, though. “That you shouldn’t be seeing Freecss if you’re just looking to fuck, bro. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Oh, right, because you two are  _such great friends_ ,” Kurapika teased. “You barely  _know the guy_ .”

“But can’t you tell!” Killua cried, exasperated. “He’s too—too—”

“Is he a prude?” Leorio suggested with a grimace. “He’s a prude, huh.”

“ _No_ , he’s just too—too—wholesome,” Killua finished anticlimactically and with a tired, sad pout on his face. It was too early in the morning for him to talk about this, or even think about Freecss’ voice through the studio door. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, no matter how much he convinced himself that the Daily Grind would banish it from his brain. 

Drunk Killua wondered if Freecss would be singing at the café down the street.

Thankfully, Kurapika was too wound up to read into it. Instead, he declared that his mind wouldn’t be changed, and that Killua would just have to suck it up. When Killua looked hopelessly at Leorio to intervene, Leorio shrugged and said, “Sorry, dude. No changing his mind.”

* * *

By Wednesday, Killua grew more and more suspicious of Freecss and Kurapika. It was to the point where Killua wanted to know what, specifically, Kurapika did on his phone. Was the guy still on Tinder? Was he talking to other guys  _aside_ from Freecss? He wondered if Freecss knew. What if Freecss thought they were exclusive while Kurapika was out fucking around?

The bottom line was this: that Kurapika couldn’t be trusted.

Meanwhile, on the rare occasion that Killua didn’t work, he came home early and found Freecss in the living room practicing his guitar. He could hear it faintly out in the hall, and when he entered, the music paused for a moment as Gon tipped back and into view of the foyer hallway. 

“Welcome home!” Gon called out as Killua was slipping off his sneakers.

He wandered up the hallway and, lingering at the foyer archway, studied the state of the kotatsu. Gon had his laptop out with music sheets on it, and his tuner was left among the entrails of his backpack on the ground. 

“I can take this to my room if you want,” Gon said, about to close his laptop.

“No,” Killua said, waving a dismissive hand. “It’s fine. Keep playing.”

Killua went to his room to put away his things and, after he disappeared behind his door, Gon picked up his guitar again and began with a flurry of bright notes that cascaded into broad, rich chords. Killua paused just inside of his room, his backpack strap in hand, and his attention still consumed by Gon’s perfectly accented vibratos peppered among quick finger-plucking and the sensual taps of his nails against the pickguard.

_The guy’s a whole one-man band_ , Killua thought, silently impressed by the makeshift percussion sprinkled throughout Gon’s acoustic cover. Or was it a cover? He had never heard the tune, the closer he listened to it, and it didn’t occur to him until he was in the kitchen making a protein shake that Gon might have actually composed this song all on his own.

He thought about the lyrics from the studio in the lecture hall basement and wondered if Gon was a lyricist, too.

With nothing but his hand on the neck of the guitar, Gon plucked the keys while coordinating the heel of his other palm against the wooden body of his guitar. He drummed his fingers against the underside of the body while his other hand remained nimble and free against the fretboard. 

Killua lowered himself silently across the kotatsu from Gon, his smoothie all but abandoned in his hand as he watched and wondered why the hell Gon was in music theory school when he could have started his own career by now. He could already picture Gon with an electric guitar engaging in solo battles on a rock concert stage against a fellow bassist. 

_I wonder if Kurapika’s heard this_ , Killua wondered, taking a sip of his smoothie. 

Gon paused to jot something down on the note sheet on his computer, and only then did he realize that Killua was sitting there watching the entire goddamn show. 

Killua had never seen Gon’s cheeks turn so red so fast. 

“I-I didn’t realize you were listening,” Gon stammered as his fingers resumed their positions. 

Killua looked away pointedly, took a sip of his smoothie and, after smacking his lips, said, “I’m not.”

Gon frowned at him, and Killua caught it in the corner of his eye. “You are, too,” he said through a pout. 

[ K](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G4cJ4wviwS8)illua stretched his legs out under the kotatsu since Gon had his legs folded beneath him, which gave Killua plenty of room to relax, drink his smoothie, and listen to the iterations Gon went through. As Gon polished up his set, Killua pictured it all flowing in a mosaic of color on a foggy, clear limited edition vinyl that he could play on repeat in a Northern Cali beach house, or on a static-y cassette player surrounded by redwoods, sitting on a lawn chair propped up atop a VW. 

He could see himself at a bonfire surrounded by nothing but the great outdoors and a collection of faceless people that  _didn’t_ annoy the shit out of him. Kurapika was there, as was Leorio, and strangely enough, Chrollo and Machi. They probably wouldn’t understand it, but there were people out there who  _would_ , and they would listen to Gon’s cassettes on a roadtrip one autumn weekend and every year after that they would find it amidst their collection and say, “ _This throws me back to fall of 2019_ .”

It would be an obscure release, one that would involve word-of-mouth, hand-me-downs, chill house parties and café afternoons. A limited number of cassettes would be made, and an even smaller number of records, and Gon would hand them out in basement parties when it’s so late at night that everyone is either high, drunk, or asleep. A calm atmosphere to close out the night in a way  _Closing Time_ couldn’t. He’d make friends with his small audience in exchange for their pocket, where Gon would slip a limited edition cassette and say, “ _To remember me by_ .”

“ _I want to market you_ ,” was almost what Killua said, but instead, he said, “You should sing.”

Gon had been shifting notes on his program when Killua suddenly spoke after nearly half an hour of silence. Gon blinked, startled, and shook his head with a bashful laugh. “Oh, no, I couldn’t,” he said, shaking his head again. He put his attention back on the screen as he said, “I don’t like how I sound.”

Killua shrugged, indifferent, even though internally, he was screaming with frustration. It wasn’t his place. “Your loss,” Killua sighed.

As Monday passed them by, Tuesday was fast approaching and Killua came to dread going to work. Exhaustion was hot on his heels and lulling him to sleep in the middle of class, even as Retz called, once again, for a group meeting to decide when they would be watching the movies discussed in their essay prompt. 

While Killua half-drifted off, Gon covered for him by saying a Saturday afternoon would work well. It was the safest bet Gon could think of, given that Killua tended to work weekend nights.

“I’ll be there bright and early!” Zushi promised that same day after class, bounding off of a stone hedge outside of their lecture hall.

Knuckle rolled his eyes and said, “We all know you sleep ‘till eleven most days.”

Zushi spun to him with a scowl and a threatening fist shaking in the air. Knuckle ducked away from it as Gon giggled behind his hand.

“You guys don’t have to get to the café straight away,” he insisted, still smiling. “I’ll be there until ten-ish.”

“First ones there or  _nothing_ ,” Zushi said, to which Knuckle added, “He’s kidding.”

And, while they weren’t the  _first_ ones by any means, they were the first witnesses to what could have been an uneventful, but successful, gig. They arrived just in time to see the status quo before it was broken.

Before it broke, Zushi, Knuckle and Uvogin arrived to a nearly full-house. The café was stationed in one half of the building which was divided into two by a narrow hallway where the outer door was propped open, and the café door was swung open wide. There were people milling about in that small cooridor outside of the café, out on the sidewalk at the tables, and most of all, the café was  _packed_ . 

It was like any other weekday morning, but this time, people lingered a while longer on their morning routine before heading off to work. They lingered as they sipped their coffee and let the caffeine seep in with the hypnotic music Gon was playing on a small platform at the back corner of the café, perched on a stool, and sporting a loose floral button down tucked into a pair of slacks. His floral shirt was unbuttoned halfway down, revealing a plain white tee behind the wooden body of Melvin 2.0.

Zushi peered into the café, at first hesitant, before leading the trio through a gap in the line. They shimmied down the narrow stretch of wood flooring to the back, where they could stand among customers watching the calm, instinctual way Gon’s fingers flew across the fretboard. 

_Impressive_ , Zushi thought. He had heard Gon play before, and he knew what Gon would likely be playing that day, but it still amazed him just how talented Gon was with a guitar.

Gon’s eyes opened at the sound of someone leaving a tip in his jar. He smiled at them and watched them walk off, only for his eyes to pull towards an eager Zushi, jumping with excitement and waving frantically at Gon.

Gon beamed at them and, after concluding the song, intended to greet them. Instead, he was met with praise in the form of eager applause across the café and out into the hall. He flushed, hugging Melvin 2.0 as he leant towards his friends and said, “Thanks for coming…”

Zushi punched him in the arm. “Anything for you, dude.”

Gon giggled, flustered as all hell, and Knuckle turned to Uvogin and said, “He’s so fucking cute.” Uvogin gave Gon a thumbs up, and Gon waved a dismissve hand at him.

“You guys should get something to drink—they have an excellent chai if you’re into that kind of thing,” Gon suggested, waving them off back in the direction of the cashier line. Zushi blew Gon a kiss before following after Knuckle and Uvogin.

Gon let out a relieved sigh and went back to work.

One long, experimental song later and Gon was back in the groove. He could _feel_ the energy inside of the café mingling on his skin, trembling into his quick fingers. He played to his heart’s content, satisfied only with the looks of amazement he saw when he opened his eyes and scanned the crowd for Zushi, Knuckle, and Uvogin. His friends had taken to a open spot near the windows, and they looked just as content as Gon felt filling the café with music.

When Zushi’s drink was called, he went up to fetch it and, taking a sip, turned to head back to Knuckle and Uvogin. His attention caught on a tuft of white hair passing the window, and he choked immediately.

He scrambled to their table, coughing, and Knuckle gave him a firm few pats on the back. “Z-Zoldyck’s here—” Zushi rasped, and Knuckle, likewise, gasped.

“Where? I don’t—” Knuckle started, just as Killua-goddamn-Zoldyck stepped through the café door trailing behind some blonde guy in a black sunhat and glasses.

Killua’s eyes were on the line, wondering just how long he needed to stay here to satisfy Kurapika’s promise of, “ _For as long as it takes to get a drink_ .” Given the state of the morning rush hour, it would  _take_ an entire damn hour to leave. 

“I’ve never heard him play,” Kurapika said, pulling his sunglasses off with gloved hands. He looked back at Killua, who set his jaw tight and looked away. 

“I’m getting a mocha,” Killua decided. His eyes glanced over the crowded café and, in doing so, he skimmed straight over Zushi, Knuckle, and Uvogin and thought to himself,  _Fucking perfect_ .

After placing their order, Killua attempted to tug Kurapika off to the hallway to wait, but Kurapika pointed to the countertop directly next to the Idiot Trio’s table. “There’s a spot right there,” he said, and yanked Killua along. 

Meanwhile, Zushi and Knuckle had their sights on that blonde-haired androgynous beauty with Killua. When those two approached the counter, Knuckle started slapping Zushi repeatedly until Zushi stammered out, “H-Hey Killua. Did you come to listen to Gon, too?”

“Purely coincidence,” Killua said. 

“I came here for Gon,” his friend said and, leaning over, held a hand out to Zushi. “Kurapika.”

“Zushi, Gon’s friend,” Zushi said, his heart screaming in his chest. “Are you…? You and Gon are seeing each other, aren’t you?”

Kurapika smiled sweetly and said, “Yes, we are. Has he told you about me?”

“Yeah, actually,” Zushi beamed.

When they went back to their designated groups, Knuckle turned to Zushi and said, “Kurapika looks  _exactly_ like that guy in Retz’ picture,” to which Zushi whisper-screamed through clenched teeth, “I fucking  _know_ ! What the fuck!”

Knuckle turned back to them just as Kurapika was tossing his blonde hair over his shoulder and looking back at them. Knuckle propped his elbow over the back of his chair, leant in, and asked, “So how do you two know each other?”

“We’ve known each other since high school,” Killua said as Kurapika opened his mouth. Killua turned, slowly, to glare at Kurapika in a silent threat to keep his mouth shut. Kurapika shrugged and went back to studying Gon from across the café.

Kurapika had never heard Gon play, let alone  _witnessed it_ and  _holy shit_ , he was impressed. Gon had his eyes on his strings, playing along them with a flurry of finger-plucking and pickboard taps that created an entire ensemble all on his own. It was mesmerizing to watch, and it was no wonder that people lingered and totally obscured Kurapika’s view of the guy.

Kurapika leant over to Killua and said, “I’m gonna go talk to him. Could you get my drink for me when it gets called?”

“Yeah, sure,” Killua sighed. 

Kurapika bounded off through the crowd, knowing that if he lingered any longer with such a shit view, he’d start shanking people for being in his way. When Kurapika approached, Gon was just concluding the song and, when it was over, lifted his eyes to meet the applause and the bright expression on Kurapika’s face.

“H-Hey!” Gon stammered, heat swelling to his ears. “Thanks for coming!”

“Of course—I couldn’t miss it,” Kurapika said, and as the two of them chatted, Killua glared from across the café.

He wasn’t quite sure  _what_ this feeling was, but he was certain it had something to do with Kurapika’s Evil Plan that had everything to do with defiling Gon. Why did it bother him so much? Was it Kurapika’s flippancy? He supposed he despised people who fucked around with people who  _didn’t_ fuck around. If Kurapika just stuck to the goddamn program and fucked around with  _someone_ at their club, whether that be Chrollo or Leorio, it wouldn’t bother him so much.

But  _why_ , out of all the people in San Francisco, did it have to be  _Freecss?_

“Christ,” Killua muttered under his breath, turning away. He looked out the window and started with a curse at the sight of his reflection—or rather, the person standing just beyond his reflection, staring at him through the window.

_Alluka!_ he cried internally, eyes wide with horror. 

There is sister was, staring at him through the café window. She smiled sweetly at him and spun away, towards the entrance. Killua’s eyes followed her, mortified, and as his heart twisted in his chest, he remembered that students from his class were sitting  _right there_ .

_Fuck_ , he thought, scattering from his seat. Alluka would surely say something awful, and he needed to make sure there wouldn’t be collateral damage—

But then, Alluka was swinging into the cafè, blocking Killua’s exit. She grasped him by the shoulders as he staggered. Behind them, Zushi turned to Knuckle and said, “She looks like a celebrity! Does he know any celebrities?” Knuckle shrugged uselessly, and Uvogin watched from between them, arms crossed, thoroughly concerned and fascinated by everything that was happening. 

The three of them watched as this strange yet beautiful woman started peppering Killua Zoldyck’s forehead with red kisses.

“Oh, my precious baby,” she cooed.

“S-Stop it, I’m serious,” Killua said, pushing against her in an attempt to escape, but she clung to him like the leech she was. “Let’s—talk outside—”

“Aw, but I want to see your boyfriend—Where is he? He invited me to see him perform and I came  _all this way_ —!” she cried.

“B-Boyfriend!” Zushi squeaked, only to slap his hand over his mouth when Killua’s attention snapped back to him with a murderous glare. 

Killua seethed, “I  _don’t—_ ” only to falter.

There were too many moving parts. Gon’s friends were staring at him with those wide, shocked eyes that suggested Gon hadn’t, not even in the slightest, alluded to even  _talking_ to Killua. As far as they were concerned, Gon and Killua were just group partners for a project. 

What Gon  _had_ told them, however, was that he was seeing someone else entirely, and that someone else was just on his way back to fetch his coffee when Alluka said all of this.

Kurapika had never met Killua’s sister, but the resemblence was there, and Killua talked about her enough for Kurapika to gather who she was in the time it took for him to process  _what she had said_ . 

“Gon’s performing,” Kurapika said.

Killua spun around, heart stopping in his chest. It lept to his throat when Alluka pointed at  _him_ and said, “Yeah, Killua’s boyfriend.”

“ _What?!_ ” Zushi screamed. Knuckle was holding him back, or rather, holding onto him for moral support.

Kurapika looked like he was two seconds away from ripping Alluka’s extensions out. “Excuse me, but what did you say?” Kurapika said, eyes stuck solely on Killua’s sister despite Killua  _knowing_ that all Kurapika wanted to do was punch him right then and there.

“It’s—” Killua started, about to finish with “ _complicated”_ , but that wouldn’t fly. Not with Kurapika, and certainly not with Alluka. Still, it got Kurapika’s attention long enough for Killua to fully analyze the gravity of Kurapika’s annoyance. He felt like he was in the theater again, getting bitched out for being selfish. 

Gon was strumming out the fastest riff Killua had ever heard with an exotic, hispanic lilt that made it feel like they were on the cusp of a barfight in Mexico City.

So Killua pointed to Gon through the crowd and said the first excuse that came to mind. “Gon’s poly,” he said. 

Gon punctuated the end of the sequence with one last final strum and put his hand in the air, and the applause lifted with it, drowning out the sound of Zushi crying, “You’ve  _got_ to be kidding me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Putting this note here for Sars and Sars only: Gon is NOT ACTUALLY POLY IN THIS AU I PROMISE XD


	17. Say It Ain't So

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [The Bop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ENXvZ9YRjbo&list=RD8OyBtMPqpNY&index=4)

**“H** old on, hold on, let me get this straight… You’ve been  _dating Freecss_ this  _entire_ fucking time—and you didn’t think to  _tell me_ ?” 

“It’s not that simple—”

“Yes, it is that fucking simple, you sexy fucking moron!”

“No need to throw mean names around—I think? That was mean, wasn’t it?” Alluka said, looking to Gon’s friends for support, but the Idiot Trio was completely gobsmacked by the morning’s events. Uvogin whistled low under his breath, impressed.

Kurapika hit Killua on the shoulder, and then on the chest for good measure. Killua lost his breath on the second one and choked out, “Yeah, okay, I deserved that—”

“Ya think!” Kurapika screamed. 

The café was starting to thin out as the time drew closer and closer to ten, at which point Gon could be seen thanking customers for leaving tips and for staying and listening. Killua glanced over at him and, some sane part of him was still stuck on the idea that Gon would be a perfect performer at underground parties—

Kurapika hit him again.

“ _Ow_ ! Fuck!” Killua groaned.

Alluka cut between them, shoving them both away from one another just as Freecss made his way over.

“Alluka! You made it!” Gon said, beaming. He looked across the startled faces of all of his friends and said, “I’m so glad you guys could come! I—” 

Before he could finish, Zushi was on his feet and storming to the door. Knuckle half-stood to go after him, but Uvogin stopped him. Gon had only seen the very edge of Zushi angry and this went beyond that. Worry pricked at his heart as he watched his friend escape the café. He looked back at Knuckle, who put his head in his hand and sighed. 

“I-I’ll go check on him,” Gon said, hesitating as he put a hand on Kurapika’s shoulder and said, “Could you maybe guard my guitar for me?”

Kurapika sighed and said, “Yeah, sure, whatever,” as he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose and halt the impending headache.

Gon thanked him and jogged out after Zushi. As he skidded out onto the sidewalk, he spied the back of Zushi’s fuzzy brown hair at the corner of the street, his hands tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie, and his shoulders bunched up in frustration. Gon ran up to him, out of breath, and said, “Hey, what’s up?”

Zushi put a hand up to rub his eyes and, to Gon’s astonishment, his tears. “Nothing,” Zushi muttered.

“Come on, I know you’re lying,” Gon said with a half-hearted laugh.

Zushi threw his hand down and said, “For fuck’s sake, Gon.” Gon startled, alarmed at the venom Zushi spat out at him in the form of harsh words. “How long have you been  _lying to me?_ Have you just been making fun of me this entire fucking time? I thought you were serious about—About hating Zoldyck!”

_What?_ Gon thought, floored. “I wouldn’t say I  _hate_ him…” he started.

Zushi let out a hollow laugh, turning to Gon, his eyes flitting everywhere but on Gon. “Yeah, well,  _clearly_ . Since you’re dating the guy.”

Gon could have laughed, and he did. “I’m—” he started, only to stop, his eyes catching on the café window where he could see Alluka’s brown hair curled to perfection. The only person who thought he was dating Killua was Killua’s sister.

“Holy heck…” Gon whispered, a hand to his forehead.

“Yeah, and you’ve been seeing two different people? What the fuck, Gon? Why didn’t you tell me you were poly?” Zushi said. 

“This is so out of control,” Gon groaned, hands over his face in fear of his brain melting out through his nose. It was too much for him to comprehend, let alone  _handle._

“Well  _get it under control_ ,” Zushi snapped at him, and Gon flinched. “I’m not dealing with this bullshit. I can’t believe you lied to me all semester. That’s not what friends  _do, Gon_ .”

With that, Zushi stormed across the road, leaving Gon to linger at the curb, out of breath and out of his mind with what could only be described as pure, unadulterated  _grief_ .

Zushi was Gon’s first friend in over two years. He really  _did_ have shit luck keeping friends around, huh?

Gon sluggishly returned to the café, fully aware of the shitshow he was likely going to walk into given his current state of affairs. Everyone else was still there, loitering, which was to be expected. But when Gon appeared in the doorway, Kurapika stopped bitching and Alluka relaxed from where she was physically attempting to split Killua and Kurapika apart. 

Gon rubbed a hand over his hair and sighed, a dull but familiar ache resurfacing in his chest. Without a word, he went back to his stage to start packing up. 

The silence and the look on Gon’s face was enough for everyone in the group to become riddled with guilt. Gon never looked like that, which just proved that today was, in fact, a shitshow. 

Knuckle and Uvogin left as Gon zipped up Melvin 2.0’s case. Despite how Gon tried to ignore them and everything that was happening in the corner of the café, their wordless exit nearly brought tears to his eyes. 

He couldn’t imagine seeing Zushi or Knuckle in class later. He didn’t want to go to class. He didn’t want to talk to them or anyone.

So when Kurapika came up to him, he dreaded having to speak. 

“Listen, Gon,” Kurapika started, and Gon ducked his head to avoid looking at him. “You can do whatever the fuck you want, alright? I get it. But I like to know these things.”

Gon nodded, and came damn near close to crying when Kurapika squeezed him by the shoulders and pulled him in for a hug. Gon tucked his forehead against Kurapika’s shoulder, his eyes closed. 

“I’ll text you later,” Kurapika promised before pulling away. He wandered to the door where, as he propped his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, he glanced back at Gon. Gon offered a meager wave, and Kurapika was off.

Now thoroughly packed up, Gon shrugged on his backpack and carried Melvin 2.0 over to where Alluka was cradling a latté at the countertop beside Killua. Killua was watching him as Gon put a hand to Alluka’s back and said, “Thanks for coming.”

“Definitely! I wish I could have listened to more,” she said, looking back at him with a brilliant smile. “I’ll just have to come to the next one. You’ll invite me, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Gon said, his smile genuine. “I’ll see you sometime soon then.”

He left without looking at Killua.

* * *

Class was just as terrible as any other course Gon took at his old community college. Some desperate part of Gon wanted to believe that it would be fine, and that he’d walk in and Zushi would be playfully annoyed at Gon but they’d continue sitting with each other through class, and then joke about it at the end.

It wasn’t like that.

It went a little more like this:

After dropping Melvin 2.0 off at home, Gon drove to class where he lingered at the doorway, hoping to catch Zushi’s eye. Zushi looked thoroughly angry, scribbling in his notebook. Beside him, Knuckle looked up. Gon offered a weak, hopeful wave.

Knuckle sighed and shook his head. He looked off to the side, away from where Gon’s heart shattered.

A group of students walked in, and one of them bumped into Gon. He staggered, and he would have been fine with it had another student not done the exact same thing two seconds later and looked over her shoulder to make sure Gon  _knew_ that it was intentional.

Gon stared after her, and then at all of the attention was on him. Students who Gon had heard giggle and gossip about Killua were now glaring at him relentlessly. 

A sweat broke out across his forehead.  _I can’t stay here_ , he thought, panic gripping him by the throat.

As he went to make his escape, Professor Isaac walked in. Gon skidded to a halt as Isaac said, “Take your seats, everyone.”

Gon hesitated. He lingered at the bottom of the stairs a moment longer before hurriedly making his way up past Zushi and Knuckle’s seats. As he did, someone at the end of the row slung their backpack onto the steps, nearly taking Gon out by the ankles. “Oh, sorry,” they said. 

He knew where Killua sat, and it seemed, everyone assumed Gon would now be sitting there, too.  _Word spreads fast_ , he thought, which further complimented how gossip spread at his old school. Unrelentingly fast. 

Gon claimed second seat down from where Killua usually sat. As expected, Killua arrived just before lecture could start, and he garnered just as much positive attention as he usually did. Gon’s bottom lip wavered as he avoided Killua’s eye and looked to his hands. 

He  _really_ didn’t want to talk to his roommate right now. 

When Killua took his seat, he dropped his backpack in his usual chair and claimed the gap Gon had intended to keep between them. Killua sighed, “They all know now, huh.”

Gon said nothing. 

Killua never wanted to punch himself as much as he did in that moment. 

Killua ran a hand over his forehead and pushed his hair back as lecture began. It dragged on, dreadfully slow, and Killua could tell from the way Gon scribbled patches of black around his notebook binding that Gon wasn’t paying attention in the slightest. 

Killua hadn’t taken  _actual_ notes since he was in high school, but he took some that day so that at the end of lecture, he tore them out and handed it to Gon. 

Gon stared at them as Killua said, “Lecture notes, since you weren’t taking any.”

Gon sucked in a deep breath. Killua swallowed hard, watching pink gather around Gon’s eyes. “I’m okay, thanks,” Gon said before walking off and jogging down the steps. He left the lecture hall rubbing at his eyes, and Killua let his arm flop to his lap, the lecture notes abandoned. 

“Trouble in paradise?” a preppy voice chimed from down the empty row. 

Killua resisted the urge to groan. He turned a glare onto Retz, who beamed at him and came to rest a seat down from Killua, leaning her hip against it as the lecture hall emptied out. 

“I take it  _you_ made a point to spread it around, then,” Killua said. 

Retz shrugged half-heartedly. “I hear it, I post it. You know how it goes,” she said. “Nothing personal. I have no stakes in the matter, if I’m being honest.”

“Right,” Killua said, dryly.

“Gon’s sweet, though. I do feel a bit of remorse for that one,” Retz said, and before Killua could inquire about it, she walked off, saying, “Look forward to Saturday!” 

He wouldn’t know what Retz meant, not for several days that is.

Wednesday came to a close after an uneventful studio session—and it was precisely  _because_ it was so uneventful that was what made it so unbearable. It was one of the few classes Gon didn’t have with his friends, but generally, he was able to group up with people without issue. That day, however, he was excommunicated from the projects and, even when the professor lumped him together with a group of three, they left him on the fringes and finished the project on their own. 

Gon sat in silence after several failed attempts to join the conversation. 

He couldn’t take it.

The moment he could, he scattered from the studio as everyone was still zipping up their backpacks. 

He escaped from the building with a gasp, exhaustion seeping into his very bones. His head was clouded by his old community college and how  _It’s just like last time—It’s just like last time—It’s just like_ —

“Freecss,” a familiar voice called from down the sidewalk. 

Gon turned to it, only to wither internally. It was just Killua. As much as Gon wanted to whine, “ _What do you want?_ ” or “ _Leave me alone!_ ”, Killua was the only person on campus who could wholly understand him right now. 

They were in this together, dammit! and Gon wouldn’t fuck it up just because he couldn't stand the sight of the guy.

“H-Hey Killua,” Gon said, fists clenched at the sides of his navy slacks. 

_It’s your fault Zushi hates me!_ Gon wanted to scream. He wanted to scream it so loud, an astronaut in space would yell back, “ _Yeah, you tell him!_ ” 

Killua approached, cautiously, half-turned away like he was prepared to make a break for it. Gon could see his eyes scanning Gon’s face for any hint of aggression, and it made Gon’s face burn. “I… figured we could carpool. If you’re okay with that,” Killua suggested.

Back during their first week together, Gon would have jumped on that offer in a heartbeat. He had just wanted their living situation to be bearable. But now? Now all he wanted was to sit in his car and cry. 

“I, um, I have some errands to run,” Gon lied half-heartedly. He rubbed the back of his head and said, “Yeah, so I probably won’t make it back before you need to go to work, so…”

“That’s fine,” Killua said. “Just figured I’d ask.”

They stood in silence for a moment as Gon’s soul left his body and descended as the weight of the days events dragged on. The door to the building opened and a group of girls from Gon’s studio class stepped out, chattering until they saw Killua standing in front of a miserable-looking Gon.

Gon wondered if Killua could tell that he was two seconds away from crying, or if he just didn’t want to blow their cover. Either way, Killua reached out to him and drew Gon forward against his chest. Killua’s arms wrapped around Gon’s neck, holding him securely and tightly and all of the above. 

Gon loved hugs. He was a hug fanatic. And yet in all of his years of hugging, he never thought he’d find himself melting into Killua Zoldyck’s arms.

The seconds passed as Gon tucked his forehead against Killua’s shoulder so he wouldn’t have to see the girls from his class walk by. He wouldn’t have to know if they were staring, which they weren’t, thanks to the deadly glare Killua gave them from over Gon’s tuft of dark, fuzzy hair. 

After they were gone, Killua relaxed his hold on Gon, and Gon took the hint to pull away. Killua shoved his hands into his pockets and said, “I’m gonna walk you to your car and then get out of your hair.”

Gon brushed the pad of his thumb under his eye as he let out a dry laugh and said, “Oh, so suddenly you’re okay with being seen in public with me. Brilliant.”

Killua gave him a dry look and said, “I never said I was comfortable with it. I’m just saying that I’m going to do it, so let’s go.”

“No need to be rude about it,” Gon muttered as Killua started ahead.

Killua looked out at the road as he said, “Yeah, well, trust me when I say that I’m about as thrilled as you are about this.”

“Oh, boohoo,” Gon said with every ounce of annoyance he felt. It was startling, hearing that come out of Gon’s mouth, and soon, Killua was giving him a weird side-eye that had Gon recoiling. “Sorry.”

“No, what were you gonna say.”

“Nothing. It wasn’t nice and my ma said I shouldn’t say mean things,” Gon said.

Killua rolled his eyes and said, “You’re talking to a guy who regularly calls Kurapika a cunt, so out with it. You’d be surprised by how thick of a skin I’ve got.”

Gon scuffed his foot on the concrete as they slowed at the crosswalk. The light turned white, though, so they were quickly back on track and Gon attempted to speed up so he wouldn’t have to see Killua wandering idly behind him as he said what was on his mind.

“It was unfair of you to make all of these decisions without me. And now you’ve ruined my college existence, which wouldn’t be all that terrible if it wasn’t my second go of it. There, I said it.” Gon bounded up onto the curb and, letting out a shaky breath, glanced at Killua.

Killua seemed unfazed. He expected as much, but certainly not that last bit. He had no way of knowing why Gon even transferred—he hadn’t even thought of asking. 

“To be fair,” Killua said, and Gon hated every second of it. He hated how difficult it was to say his piece, only to have the very essence of his frustration countered. He wanted Killua to understand him wholeheartedly and not ask questions. He just wanted Killua to  _apologize_ . “ _You_ were the one who came up with the boyfriend thing. That wasn’t me.”

“Your  _sister_ came up with it—”

“And you went along with it. You didn’t ask me then, and before you say you didn’t have time… that same argument applies to me. We’re both fucked right now, so don’t blame it all on me.”

Gon’s eyes burned as his nails dug into the palms of his fisted hands. “You aren’t the one who—No, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, because it’s not like I have anything to  _win back_ by arguing with you. You  _torched_ my friendship with Zushi and Knuckle and—and I don’t expect you to understand because it’s not like you have a shortage of  _friends_ and  _people who want to hang out with you_ . I’ve a-always had a shortage and it’s no fair that you’re so fine being on your own and I’m so— _not_ .”

As the seconds dragged on and Killua said nothing, Gon decided that he had said  _more_ than enough. He rubbed at his eyes again, beyond anxious about the heat building behind them. Sniffing, he hurried to his car and fumbled with his keys to unlock it as Killua lingered at the trunk, his hands in his pockets, and his eyes on the ground. 

Killua swallowed hard and glanced down the lot, back towards the exit. It was quiet all except for the digital hum of the florescent lights over their heads. 

“That isn’t true,” he said, and he wasn’t sure what part of it felt like a lie. He only felt qualified to argue against what Gon had assumed about  _him_ , but he also found it hard to believe that Gon didn’t have anyone.

The emotional part of Gon grew defensive about the vulnerability he had just given Killua. How dare he call that a  _lie?_

“Sh-Shut up,” he stammered, standing in front of the open driver’s door. “I haven’t had a  _real_ friend since—since—God, I miss elementary school when people weren’t such  _dicks_ .” With that, he ducked into the car and slammed the door. 

Killua took the hint— _finally_ —and backed off to avoid being backed  _into_ . Gon pulled away for a hasty retreat into the great abyss known as San Francisco’s rush hour traffic. Killua watched after him for a moment before decided that he’d better figure out his bus schedule if he was going to make it home, eat, and get to work on time.

Meanwhile, Gon drove off of campus and searched for the first convenience store he could find. There, he paid for parking (like the good sumaritan he was) and wandered into Walgreens for his first and only errand that evening. 

Gon smacked a Ben and Jerry’s onto the cashier counter. 

“Just this?” the cashier said.

“Yeah. That kind of day,” Gon sighed, and the cashier rung him up.

At the car, he pushed his seat back, dug through his glove compartment for a plastic spoon, and kicked his shoes off. With his one errand done for the day, he just needed to wait for Killua to leave the apartment, and the ice cream cup would surely burn some time. 

Desperate college kids with roommates could find themselves, once in a while, yearning for  _five minutes_ in a place that belonged to only them. Gon wished he could huddle under the kotatsu that night with his ice cream and cry like the little bitch he was, but even his apartment didn’t feel like the place to have a good cry. His car was, quite literally, the only personal space he had. 

So Gon ate his chocolate-and-caramel Ben and Jerry’s through the tears to expunge all of his negative energy.

* * *

Thursday passed by with less blatant hostility. Still excommunicated from his peers, Gon took his seat with a plain face and an even plainer demeanor. He may not have Zushi on his side anymore, but he was still paying an unholy amount of money for this university.

At the end of his last class that day, he packed up and left before the rest of the students, so he didn’t see the way Knuckle scrambled to chase after him, throwing his things in his backpack as fast as humanly possible. 

Knuckle came darting out of the classroom with the speed and agility of a USFC track star, and at the foyer of the building, he called out to Gon, who was just then exiting through the door. 

Gon turned back, startled, and stared wordlessly as Knuckle slowed to a jog. 

“H-Hey Knuckle,” Gon stammered, throat tight. “How’s it going?”

Knuckle studied him for a moment before seeming to realize that he ran all this way for a reason. “Good. Good, yeah, I, um… I just wanted to let you know that I’m not… I’m not mad at you. Or anything like that.”

Gon swallowed hard and said, “O-Oh. Thanks,” in a feeble voice. After a moment of silence, Gon let the door close behind him so he could turn to Knuckle and ask, “And… what about Zushi?”

Knuckle put his hands on his hips and sighed. “Still pissed. Yeah, I don’t… I don’t know how long he’ll hold that grudge. I wouldn’t hold your breath, if I’m being honest.”

It  _felt_ like Gon was holding his breath for the entire past two days. Perhaps that was why he was so dizzy now. 

“Are you… are you  _actually_ dating Killua  _and_ Kurapika?” Knuckle asked. 

Gon cursed internally, and externally—and Knuckle heard it.

“What was that?” Knuckle said, leaning in.

“N-Nothing!” Gon cried in a panic. He knew what lying got him—Zushi’s ire and the #1 spot on his class’s hitlist. “N-No comment!” 

Flushed and flustered, Gon scattered from the area. Knuckle stared after him, confused, and cried, “Wait, what does that mean?! Gon! You do realize I’m on the track team, right? I can always catch up with you!”

Gon spun around quickly to shout, “Don’t follow me!” before jogging away. 

Knuckle snapped his fingers and cursed, “Fuck, he got me,” and stuck his hands on his hips. Now it was only a matter of figuring out what the hell Gon was on about. Even if Gon  _wasn’t_ dating Killua  _and_ Kurapika, the guy still somehow got Zoldyck on board with it. And who in the world could get Zoldyck to do that?

_I guess I’ll just have to tell Zushi about this_ , Knuckle thought, and headed back into the building to do just that.

Much would spawn from this simple conversation, as Gon would soon find out in approximately two hours.

The events went as follows:

Upon informing Zushi of Gon’s bizarre response, Zushi and Knuckle grew skeptical. Something wasn’t right, and as much as Zushi wanted to grumble and mutter about Gon’s betrayal, there was clearly something else afoot—and he wanted the  _facts_ . 

“I’m gonna text him,” Zushi said, only to stop with a groan. He really  _didn’t_ want to be the first to crack. He needed an inside man to get the scoop, and Knuckle had already cracked and talked to Gon. “No— _you_ gotta text him.”

“Me? Why me?” Knuckle said, startled. 

“Because I have an image to uphold,” Zushi.

Knuckle glared at him. “You mean a grudge?” Zushi shrugged, indifferent. “Gon’s really upset, you know. I think he really misses you.”

“It’s been, like,  _two days_ .”

“Two days is a really long time to go without your best friend,” Knuckle said.

Flattered, Zushi tapped his chin and hummed, “I was his best friend, wasn’t I… But texting isn’t significant enough. I wanna see the rat bastard beg for his life—I-I mean our friendship. Beg for our friendship.”

And so it was decided: Zushi and Knuckle would take a trip to Gon’s flat and get everything sorted out. They’d interrogate Gon, get the truth, and Zushi would decide for himself whether or not the truth warranted the termination of his grudge.

Across campus, Killua was already on a bus back to their apartment for the afternoon. When he arrived, there was a cool breeze passing over the Bay area despite the break of sunlight that warmed Killua’s jacket. He started to shrug his jacket off as he reached for the front door to the complex, and as he did, there was a stranger waiting in the limbo between the front door and the locked foyer door.

“Hey, you want me to swipe you in?” Killua asked. He had only seen one person linger there, and it was because they forgot their keys.

The guy looked up from his phone and offered a calm smile. “Nah, man, I’m just waiting for someone. Thank you, though.”

Killua didn’t think much of it aside from the mental note he took of the guy’s smile. It was charming in a relaxed sort of way, like he reserved that smile for special occasions—straight, pearly white teeth and soft cheeks that indented with deep dimples. 

_Cute_ , Killua thought, and that was the end of that train of thought.

Since it was so nice outside, when Zushi and Knuckle came to loiter outside of the apartment complex, Zushi lingered out on the sidewalk and tried to see into Gon and Killua’s apartment window. He sheltered his eyes from the sunlight and squinted up, but it was no use. Dusk was upon them, and, so it seemed, was the reflection of the sun. There was no way for him to know that Killua was sitting at the kotatsu reading a book for class until Knuckle started buzzing the apartment relentlessly. 

“Damn, he’s not answering,” Knuckle said, and that was because Killua could see that it was indeed Knuckle on the security camera. 

_Maybe if I don’t answer, they’ll go away_ , Killua thought, and went back to his book. 

Knuckle put his hands in his pockets and looked like a total bro as he gave the stranger in the foyer an acknowledging head-nod. The stranger returned it and watched after Knuckle as Knuckle regrouped with Zushi outside of the apartment complex.

“No luck?” Zushi asked.

“Nada,” Knuckle sighed. “I don’t  _think_ he’d ignore me. Maybe he isn’t home yet?”

“Maybe…” Zushi sighed. He just wanted answers, and he’d wait all night for them if he had to. 

Zushi took a seat on the curb and sighed, letting the weight of the past two days seep into his bones. Knuckle joined him, and together, they waited for Gon to come home. 

Gon, on the other hand, was eating Ben and Jerry’s ice cream again in a dark alley somewhere to avoid going home. He wanted to wait for Killua to leave first, and to do that, he needed to buy some extra time until eight that evening. When seven-thirty rolled around, he tossed his empty ice cream cup away and, feeling substantially heavier with sugar, made his way home where Zushi was rolling around on the concrete fake-sobbing while Knuckle threatened to text Gon right then and there to let them in.

It was a miracle Gon even entered the building from the front. The back door was blocked by a couch someone was attempting to move in, which got stuck in the entryway. 

“Do… y’all need help or…?” Gon offered weakly as he watched three buff guys trying to shove the couch in.

“Nah, we’re good. Better take the front door, though,” one of them said, gesturing with his thumb around the side of the building. Gon thanked them and wished them luck as he rerouted to the front, swinging his keys around his finger. 

He strolled around the corner and, upon facing the direction of the front door, became acutely aware of Zushi lying on the ground. 

“Z-Zushi!” Gon stammered, eyes wide. 

Zushi popped up and, likewise, Knuckle bolted to his feet. The three of them stared at each other in silence. A discarded plastic bag floated over the sidewalk like a tumbleweed in the wild west. 

Zushi pointed at Gon and said, “You’ve got some explaining to do, mister.”

Gon let out the breath he was holding. “I, um, I can explain—It’s just that—”

Knuckle put his fists in the air and screamed, “ _What did you mean when you said ‘No comment’—!_ ” He brandished his fists in a low fighting position, like they were in a Pokémon game about to square off.

“I-I need to talk to Killua first!” Gon insisted, panicked. “But Zushi—I—”

Zushi glared at him, eyes sharp and annoyance even sharper. He could have cut Gon’s heart to pieces right then and there.

Gon slumped, breathless. “I never intended to lie to you guys. And I never thought of it as… me making  _fun of you_ for liking him. I would never do that, and even though we’ve known each other for, like, a couple weeks, I hope that you can just  _tell_ that I’m  _not_ that kind of person.”

Zushi begrudgingly crossed his arms. He grumbled to himself for a moment, glaring across the street. Gon took the opportunity to leave the corner of the street to join them in front of the apartment complex. He fiddled with his hands, nervously, as he approached. He glanced at Knuckle, who looked between Zushi and Gon, as if waiting for someone to spring.

“Are we okay?” Gon asked.

Zushi pouted, giving Gon a sharp side-eye. “For now. But you’re on thin fucking ice, buddy.”

Gon let out a relieved sigh. “I’m okay with that. I’ll explain everything soon, I promise.”

“You better,” Zushi said.

And Gon did—explain everything soon, that is—because in the next moment, Killua was leaving the apartment to head to work, his duffle under one arm, and his mind on the fact that that good-looking stranger was still chilling in the foyer. 

And then Killua skidded to a halt in the open doorway, staring at Gon, Zushi, and Knuckle as the three of them turned at the sound of the door. Gon went pale instantly. 

“K-Killua!” Zushi squeaked, pink in the face.

“Fuck,” Killua whispered. He looked to Gon, who flinched as Killua said, “What the fuck, Gon?”

By this point, the stranger had seen all four of them. He focused on Gon, though, and through the glare on the window, recognition flitted across his eyes.

“Wait, are you  ▢▢▢▢ ?” the stranger said, stepping behind Killua to meet Gon’s eyes. 

Gon had never experienced a visceral reaction like that before. It felt like his skin was crinkling up like tissue paper being sucked into a vacuum, and the sensation crept its way up his spine. He was flung back to the day last semester when one of the guys in his dorm dug up his deadname from an old Facebook post a relative of his had made and tagged him in.

“ ▢▢▢▢ ?” Knuckle repeated, and Gon flinched. Knuckle slapped a hand over his mouth and said, “Oh, fuck, sorry—” Zushi elbowed him in the gut. 

“I’m—I’m not—” Gon started, fingers going numb. Killua was standing there in front of the guy, looking like he wasn’t sure whether or not to hold him back, but then Gon got a proper look. 

When their eyes met, a  _very_ familiar smile stretched across the guy’s lips, and Gon’s sinking heart took a 180 flip. 

“Ikalgo!” Gon screamed, yelping with a giddy laugh and a hop in his step as he bounded to the door. He crashed past Killua, who startled, eyes wide, as Gon leapt at the stranger for a strangling hug. “I didn’t recognize you!”

Gon thought plenty of times, especially over the past few years, about Ikalgo—the last  _real_ friend he had before moving to the States. He hadn’t seen Ikalgo since the guy was a pudgy, seven-year-old kid with glasses. No amount of puberty, however, could get rid of that smile. 

But as kids, the internet wasn’t something that was on their minds. Gon hadn’t joined the social media scene until freshmen year of high school, and by then, he had “friends” and didn’t even consider reconnecting with anyone from Mexico. They were all kids back then. 

A lot had changed.

Ikalgo laughed, squeezing Gon around his torso and giving him a shake. “Mito gave me your address,” he explained, his accent lilting and reminding Gon of his aunt and grandma. Ikalgo hesitated, only to roll his eyes and reiterate, “Well, Mito gave my  _grandma_ your address, which she gave to me.”

Gon’s feet touched the ground and, giggling, he brushed his hands beneath his eyes and said, “O-Oh, right, I forgot they still talk.”

He looked up at his friend, now thoroughly astonished that he was even able to recognize Ikalgo. Ikalgo, with the amber tones in his brown skin and his unwielding black curls. The sides of his head were buzzed, so all of his hair collected in a dome atop his head.

Ikalgo glanced at the other three people watching. Gon startled, only then remembering that they had company. Ikalgo put a hand out to Killua first and said, “Hey, Ikalgo,  ▢▢▢▢ ’s friend from Mexico.”

Killua hesitated, glancing at Zushi and Knuckle. He took Ikalgo’s hand and said, “Killua. Gon’s boyfriend.”

Ikalgo opened his mouth, an eyebrow raised, and Gon let out a panicked, squeaky sound. He never wanted to strangle a person as much as he did right then and there, watching Ikalgo and Killua muscle-off via an aggressive handshake. 

Gon desperately dragged Ikalgo by the arm over to Zushi and Knuckle. “And these are my friends from USFC! Zushi and Knuckle.”

Zushi looked sick as he shook Ikalgo’s hand and said, “Yeah, Gon’s friend.”

“Yeah,  _Gon’s_ friend,” Knuckle repeated, nose up and an air of superiority swept about him. Gon went beet red as Ikalgo gave him a confused nod. Knuckle’s handshake could have broken fingers, but rather than be alarmed, Ikalgo pointed to Knuckle’s USFC track hoodie.

“Track, huh?”

“Discus,” Knuckle said, and Gon felt the hovering threat of a discus to the face. 

“Oh, cool. Pole vaulting,” Ikalgo said, pointing to himself. “Just transferred to USFC for it.”

“U-USFC?” Gon stammered, voice cracking.

“Transferred?” Zushi repeated, pale in the face.

“Pole vaulting! Wow!” Knuckle cried, amazed. 

“Jesus…” Killua said despite himself, and when attention turned to him, Killua looked down at his nonexistent watch. “ _Christ_ , would you look at the time? I… gotta get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody:  
> Literally nobody:  
> Me: "So the childhood best friend trope?"


	18. Amnesia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [The Bop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9t8jeD2UzjM)

**“S** o you’re moving here from Mexico?” Zushi said over the rim of his tea mug. 

Gon slipped a mug in front of Ikalgo at the kotatsu. Ikalgo thanked him, still smiling just as wide as every time Gon appeared in his view. Zushi eyed them both suspiciously before dragging his eyes over to Knuckle, who said, “For pole vaulting? You’re gonna be on the track team?”

Ikalgo glanced between them, his smile relaxing into a slow grin. “Yes—to both questions. I got a full ride and just moved into Hatsu Hall.”

Knuckle gasped. “That’s where I live.”

“You’re both athletes. Of course you both will be living there,” Zushi deadpanned. 

Gon was in a tizzy. He could only half-listen to the conversation when there was so much to do. He thanked the Lord in Heaven above for Killua’s adamant habit of closing his bedroom door, so it was only a matter of plucking the roommate agreement off of the refrigerator and hiding Killua’s toothbrush in the bathroom. 

There were a fuck ton of dishes, though, and—oh, deary him, the kitchen table was quite a mess. And don’t get him  _started_ on his room—

_Wait_ , Gon said, catching himself. He put his hands on his hips, souring a little.  _I’m a guy. I’m not supposed to worry about how the place looks_ .

This train of thought immediately brought a cartoonish version of Killua to mind, saying, “ _That’s your toxic masculinity speaking. Fuck off with that_ .”

In the midst of his inner turmoil, Ikalgo turned around to face him, and Gon straightened with a yelp. “Are you gonna join us?” Ikalgo asked, gesturing to the empty spot. 

“Y-Yes!” Gon said, scrambling back to the kotatsu. He tucked his crossed legs under the blanket and, perfectly poised, faced his friends. His cheeks were pink and his ears even more so. “I, um, I think it’s so cool that you’re going to USFC.”

“Yeah, when I heard you were transferring and that I could get on the track team… It just seemed fated,” Ikalgo said, his dazzling smile flustering Gon and wooing Zushi. “I have wanted to move to California since you did.”

“Th-That’s ridiculous,” Gon stammered, embarrassed. He tucked his hands against his ankles and said, “You love Mexico. I remember you never wanted to leave. Aren’t your grandparents still there?”

“Oh, yeah, they’d never budge,” Ikalgo laughed, waving a dismissive hand. “It’s just me here.”

“So… you and Gon knew each other when you were kids?” Zushi said.

Gon took a sip of his tea as Ikalgo said, “Yeah she was—” Gon choked and coughed into his elbow. “He  _is_ my best friend.”

Gon put the back of his hand over his mouth to hide the gasp he so desperately wanted to choke on. Zushi licked his lips like he wanted to roll up the sleeves on his shirt and punch something. As Zushi smacked his lips and said, “Well…  _actually—_ ” Knuckle put a hand on the table and interrupted him.

“Okay, but back to pole vaulting,” he said.

Zushi took to his phone and started typing away furiously. When he was done, he pointedly put his phone down and looked at Gon, who’s phone buzzed half a second later.

> 20:22  **ZUSHI:** What the actual fuck is happening?
> 
> 20:22  **ZUSHI:** Were you actually friends with this hunk?
> 
> 20:22  **GON:** Yeah  😫🥺
> 
> 20:23  **GON:** I haven’t talked to him since we were kids
> 
> 20:23  **ZUSHI:** And he literally MOVED HERE FOR YOU???
> 
> 20:23 **GON:** 😫
> 
> 20:23  **GON:** Don’t say it like thaaat
> 
> 20:24  **ZUSHI:** Why do you get all the hunks???
> 
> 20:24  **GON:** I DON’T  🥺
> 
> 20:24  **GON:** It’s just that
> 
> 20:25  **GON:** When we were kids we gave each other promise rings under the assumption that we’d see each other again
> 
> 20:25  **GON:** And I THOUGHT HE’D FORGET ABOUT THEM
> 
> 20:26  **GIN:** PROMISE RINGS??
> 
> 20:26  **GIN:** Damn. That shit’s unbreakable
> 
> 20:26  **ZUSHI:** UUUUUVOOOOOOOOO

“My grandma said you’re still playing the guitar,” Ikalgo commented, and it brought Gon’s eyes up from his phone. 

“Yeah, I do,” he said, a bashful smile on his lips.

“ _Does he?!_ ” Zushi cried, astonished. “This guy had a gig at a café this week!”

“It was pretty fire,” Knuckle agreed. 

“I’d love to hear it sometime,” Ikalgo said, propping his chin on his hand. His dark, black eyes lingered on Gon, and if Gon wasn’t in such a panic, a look like that from a guy as good-looking as his childhood best friend would be called ‘bedroom eyes’. 

And then, seven octaves higher than usual, Gon said, “Okay.”

“Me encantaría salir contigo[1],” Ikalgo said in completely fluid Spanish that had Gon’s brain spinning. The romantic intentions were only compounded by the look he was giving Gon.  _Go out with me sometime?!_ Gon thought, flabbergasted.

“D-Don’t be ridiculous,” Gon stammered, looking nervously at his friends. 

Knuckle snickered and said, “Bro, you just turned so red right now.”

Gon put both hands to his cheeks. His fingers felt like icicles compared to them. “Sh-Shut up!” Gon whined. 

Knuckle started cackling and Zushi hid his smile behind his hand. Ikalgo folded his arms on the edge of the table, and it drew Gon’s attention back to him. 

“¿Podemos hablar ahorita solos?[2]” he asked, and Gon swallowed hard. Hearing Ikalgo speak Spanish unlocked a part of Gon’s brain that he reserved for his aunt and grandma for the past decade. It made him feel  _at home_ , like he wasn’t thousands of miles away from Aunt Mito. 

But  _talk with Ikalgo alone?_ Ikalgo’s suggestion had Gon’s nerves bubbling back up.

“S-Sure,” he said. He cleared his throat and turned to Zushi and Knuckle, who were cackling to one another about the entire situation. “Would… it be okay if I talked to you guys later? It’s just that—it’s been a while since I’ve talked to Ikalgo and we have some things to discuss… alone…”

Zushi’s mouth fell open, and Knuckle gasped, only to gasp again when he fully understood the suggestion. “Oh! Oh, of course. Privacy, got it,” Knuckle said and followed up with a wink. He pushed to his feet and grabbed Zushi by the arm along the way. As they scattered to the foyer, Zushi whisper-shouted to Knuckle, “ _Alone?!_ ” and Knuckle shushed him.

Gon followed after them after a moment, offering a faint, nervous smile to Ikalgo as he dismissed himself. When he made it to the foyer, Knuckle and Zushi were aggressively whispering to each other while tying their shoes, and when Gon approached, Zushi grabbed Gon by the shoulders and shook him viciously.

“Tell me the truth—Are you comfortable being alone with this strange man?” Zushi hissed in a violent whisper-shout.

Gon’s brain jostled in his skull. “Yes, of course. He was my best friend.”

“Emphasis on ‘ _was_ ’,” Zushi hissed. “I’m number one now.”

“Damn straight,” Knuckle said, but quickly corrected himself. “Damn gay, I mean.”

Gon rolled his eyes. “I’ll be fine. I’ll keep you guys posted,” he promised, and shooed them out of the apartment. He locked the door after them and, after a moment, turned back with a sigh of relief. 

Ikalgo was just getting to his feet and leaning against the doorframe as Gon busied himself with resituating the shoes in the foyer so he could delay this moment for a while longer. This sensation in his gut was unfamiliar to him and he hoped it wasn’t indigestion. It was both pleasant and terrible, and he blamed it on the discomfort of having to come out— _again_ —to the guy who used to be his best friend.

Gon rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and said, “Listen, Ikalgo…”

“You’re trans then, huh?” Ikalgo said, matter-of-factly. Gon nodded, and hated how guilty he felt when doing it. “I didn’t know, I swear.”

“I thought—I thought my mom might have told your grandma,” Gon said, and he dreaded to think that she  _hadn’t_ . It felt impossible to him that Aunt Mito would blatantly censor his transition for the sake of pacifying family and friends back in Mexico.

“Ya sabes cómo es la vieja,[3]” Ikalgo said, and Gon  _did_ know  _exactly_ how Ikalgo’s grandma was. She was the woman who fawned over Gon as a kid since she always wanted a little girl to pamper. She used to point at Gon, nudge Ikalgo, and say, “ _You better treat her right when you two get married_ .”

“Yeah,” Gon sighed. “I do know.”

He slowed at the archway to the living room, where Ikalgo put a hand on the frame and met Gon’s eyes. Gon clenched his teeth to keep from speaking. He hadn’t expected Ikalgo to outgrow his baby fat and glasses, but there he was, brandishing a shadow of  _facial hair_ and dimples that would make any person of any gender sexually attracted to men.

Gon sucked in a deep breath because  _shit_ , he was already  _so_ into men.

“¿Todavía hablas español?[4]” Ikalgo asked. 

Gon nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”

Ikalgo nodded, and Gon was  _far_ too out of practice to realize that Ikalgo had expected him to say it in Spanish. He smiled a little, his dimples just faint shadows on his cheeks as he looked down and said, “This might come across smoother in Spanish if you don’t mind me saying it  _in_ Spanish.”

“Yeah, please do,” Gon said. “I don’t mind.”

“ _I’m… confused,_ ” Ikalgo said, looking up to meet Gon’s eyes. Gon crossed his arms defensively, shoulders tight. “ _I thought we agreed we’d wait for each other but—you’ve already got a boyfriend and—I’m_ so sure _I’m straight, but I’m still attracted to you._ ”

“How can you be attracted to me when you barely know me anymore?” Gon said. “If you’re still attracted to me, you aren’t straight.”

“ _But I like_ women _and I like_ you _._ ”

“Not everything needs to have a term,” he said and offered a half-shrug. “Otherwise you can say you’re a straight Gon-sexual.”

Ikalgo put a hand over his face. “ _I didn’t expect to have a sexual crisis on top of finding out you’re already taken_ .”

Gon caught himself from arguing against it. He could, theoretically, have declared that he was, in fact, available for the taking. He  _could_ have, theoretically, decided to take Ikalgo up on his offer. 

But something held him back.

It had been  _years_ since they last spoke. He couldn’t jump feet-first into whatever their past relationship was. They were older, “wiser”, and… different people now. 

So Gon decided to keep Killua as a buffer. “Yeah, I am. Taken, that is,” Gon said. 

Ikalgo crossed his arms, his shoulder pressed up against the archway frame. “ _So what’s this guy all about, huh? Killua, was it?_ ”

Gon grinned at the distinct intrigue in Ikalgo’s jealous tone. “We’re in the same major and  _yes_ , his name is Killua.”

“No confio en el[5],” he said, and Gon could have laughed. Ikalgo didn’t even  _know_ Killua—of course he couldn’t trust a guy he didn’t know. 

Gon tipped back against the opposite side of the archway frame, thoroughly amused. “No seas ridículo. Yo soy lo suficientemente capaz de decidir con quién debería o no salir.[6]”  _Don’t be ridiculous. I am very much capable of deciding who I should and shouldn’t date._

“Obviamente no, porque no estás conmigo en este momento.[7]”  _Clearly not, since you aren’t dating me right now_ .

Gon pursed his lips to stop himself from screaming. “I-I didn’t even  _know_ you were _coming here_ ,” he said, frustrated. “What’s with everyone  _not_ telling me when they’re about to do something dramatic?”

“Yikes. Trouble in paradise?” Ikalgo said with a cheeky grin that said he wanted to know every little detail about Gon’s relationship with Killua.

But Gon wasn’t  _just_ thinking about Killua now. Killua  _was_ the source of  _many_ of his problems, but Kurapika was part of the collateral damage. If Ikalgo knew about Kurapika and the blatant lie about Gon being poly, he might still assume he has a shot.

_Well, given his current confidence, I’m not sure much would change_ , Gon thought. 

“I… wouldn’t say that,” Gon said, voice cracking. He cleared his throat as Ikalgo stepped closer, his hand reaching out to settle on the wall beside Gon’s head. 

“Sé que ya no eres la misma persona,[8]” Ikalgo started, and it had Gon swallowing harder, acutely aware that Ikalgo’s voice had dropped into a tantalizing whisper that sent shivers up and down Gon’s tingling arms. Wasn’t that a sign of a heart attack? His chest  _did_ hurt a lot, but he liked to blame that on his one-size-too-small sports bra. 

“Pero quiero enamorarme de tí una vez más. Haré lo que sea necesario para convencerte que soy mil veces mejor que tu novio.[9]”

The blend of emotions roiling in Gon’s chest burst at Ikalgo’s proposal: “ _I’ll do everything I can to convince you that I’m better than your boyfriend_ .” As if his situation with Killua and Kurapika wasn’t complicated enough, Ikalgo threw an entirely knew rhythm to this goddamn shitshow of a remix. It crashed the party with an energetic jive with all of the color and spirit of norteña music they’d dance to as kids around the bright streets of their hometown.

And then, it all plateaued, and the jazzy tune melted into what it felt like to be at a street café in 1940s Paris listening to the crackle of accordion instrumentals on a rusty record player. He could see himself at a table for two, alone, wearing a white button up, brown slacks, and suspenders reading a newspaper—because it seemed aesthetic at the time—as the accordion crescendoed with romantic violins preening against the warm, golden sunlight. A shadow fell over him in the form of Ikalgo offering him a bouquette of roses, saying, “ _Al parecer no soy el único que llegó temprano. Andas emocionado, ¿O qué?_ [10]”

Gon checked out an accordion at the school’s instrument warehouse the next day. He could be found half-jogging across campus with the bulk of the leather case in his arms, eagerness lighting up behind his eyes and in the shape of a dreamy smile on his face. It sent him mentally spinning around lamp posts in a romantic tizzy. 

It had been  _years_ since he felt so homesick for Mexico. The damp, dreary San Francisco air had him yearning for it that day, but in doing so, his excitement cast the clouds aside and he felt Northern Mexico’s dry heat on his face and sinking into his golden skin…

“Gon?” someone said, and Gon caught himself waiting at a crosswalk—directly beside Killua. 

Killua haved a hand in front of Gon’s face to catch his attention. Gon blinked, startled, and turned his dreamy smile onto Killua with a delighted sigh. “Hi,” he giggled, completely smitten. 

Killua rose an eyebrow at him and said, “Where are you going with that—Is that an  _accordion?_ Dude, what the fuck?”

“I—” Gon started, but then the light turned white, and students around them started to move. They were nudged together by bypassers—the only buffer being the monstrous leather case in Gon’s arms. Now both of Killua’s eyebrows were at his hairline, thoroughly judging the state of Gon’s affairs. 

Gon’s target was just across the street—the studio building—and upon looking at it, all of his excitement came rushing back. “I—! I have something to record! I’ll see you later!”

He took off running, galloping onto the curb, until Killua jogged up beside him and said, “Record something? I thought you were done with that. You’ve got a gig and—”

“This is different!” Gon cried, bounding onto the ledge of a brick hedge. He carried himself up step-by-step until he was high above Killua, spinning with ease. “I haven’t thought about, like… my  _roots_ in  _years!_ I miss playing around with the  _tololoche_ and the—”

“‘ _Trololoche_ ’?” Killua said, completely butchering it. Gon swept back down to the sidewalk as Killua squinted at him and said, “Isn’t that a meme?”

“No, that’s  _trololo_ and—Never mind,” Gon said, rubbing at the back of his head. He balanced the case in one arm before throwing his free hand out with a gasp. “Oh! But I learned the accordion when I was a kid, but like… my hands were too small and it was kinda awkward to hold—but now! I know  _exactly_ what I need to do, so I need to do it  _right now_ . Like,  _right now_ , so I’ll see you later—”

“I could help you record,” Killua offered, and much to Gon’s surprise, Killua still had yet to stop thinking about hearing Gon’s accoustics and his voice in the studio basement. Realizing that Gon was off to record made him realize that perhaps he  _was_ jealous of Zushi’s inclusion that day in the studio basement.  _He_ wanted to be the one at the control booth. 

Killua’s offer had Gon halting in the middle of the sidewalk. Gon rose an eyebrow at Killua and said in a dull, uncertain voice, “You… want to  _help me?_ ”

Killua rolled his eyes and said, “I wouldn’t say  _that_ ,” because he didn’t just  _want_ to help—he  _needed to_ . Perhaps this was what he needed to get Gon’s music out of his head. Perhaps he was too far away from it. He needed to dig in deep to find the flaws and decide that Gon wasn’t worth his time.

“O… kay… Yeah, I guess you could help me,” Gon said with a shrug. Hesitantly, he headed to the building. He glanced over his shoulder to ensure that Killua  _wasn’t_ faking it and that he was, in fact, following close behind. 

They descended into the florescent, cement-brick hallways beneath the building. They passed a group of students lingering in front of an open studio door and, as they picked their own room, the students watched after them, intrigued by Killua being in the mix. Killua disappeared into the room and shut the door behind them, which only prompted further intrigue from the students.

And then, several minutes later, they could faintly hear the unyielding volume of the accordion through the hallway door. Confused, several of the students snuck up to the door to peer in through the window as discretely as they could to see  _what the hell was going on there_ and  _what student played the accordion?_

There, within the studio, they could find Gon standing in the middle of the booth, his fingers playing along the keys as he expanded the bellows of the accordion and drew out a flurry of energized notes. He was talking fervently to Killua, who was barely settled in at the computer putting together the mic arm. Killua was just as enthralled by the sudden way Gon belted into the music, talking over the accordion in a frenzy, as if anyone could actually hear him.

One of the students looked to his friend and said, “What the fuck?” and his friend shrugged her shoulders. No one would ever know just how Gon Freecss’ brain worked.

Gon went ballistic. The tune that had been in his head since the light before overtook his self control. There in that studio, Gon sat himself on a stool, his feet bouncing on the rungs, as Killua positioned the microphone for him. Only then could Gon play without restraint. He pulled every verse from his memory where it had piled up into a self-contained box that was now bursting at the seams. He played even as Killua took samples, readjusted, reconfigured, and decidedly ignored the fact that Gon wouldn’t stop playing no matter how many times he said, “Do you think you could play that back—okay, guess not—”

The song had multiple intense crescendos that lulled and dipped in shallow valleys of melancholic violets that turned into a blushing pink in Gon’s head. He followed it with a sway in his posture, swinging to and fro between every line of notes that traveled like a typewriter carriage returning. 

It was an epically long song that, once played twice over, brought Gon to a gasping halt, his fingers aching with the warmth from having used muscles he hadn’t performed with in ages. He stretched his hands out, fingers cracking. 

Killua had both of his eyebrows raised. “Are you  _quite_ done?” Killua asked. 

“Yeah, I think so. How was that?”

“I think we need to start from the beginning,” Killua said, and Gon’s arms fell limply to his sides. 

“What? I thought that was fine. Didn’t you get it?” Gon said, thoroughly upset. 

Killua gestured vaguely and said, “Oh, yeah, I got it. But I think it can be significally shaved down. It’s too scattered, and I’m almost  _certain_ that if you played it for me again, it would change. Make it uniform—let’s go again.”

Gon stared at him, fingers twitching with exhaustion. He cracked his knuckles again, looking away with a huff. Deep down, he wanted to prove his worth to Killua, and perhaps it had something to do with his decision to be the better of the two roommates. 

“Alright,  _fine_ . Have it your way,” Gon said in an uppity voice. He resumed cradling the accordion and, on Killua’s mark, began again—from the very start.

Killua, as it seemed, was a hardass. Gon wasn’t all that surprised to learn this, but as the two of them composed a more structured song, Gon’s stream of consciousness was boxed into the logic of Killua’s method. They recorded in verse-by-verse, choppy and unlike Gon’s habitual, playful music. He was used to all of the filler fingertapping he did on his guitar—random, sporatic, and fluid. 

And, given the nature of accordions, they eventually had to double-back and play all of their newly revised verses in succession as each note sang into the next, merging the verses together with intension and ease. 

The clock ticked closer to six in the evening as they wrapped up the session, and Killua presented Gon with a flashdrive of their raw, exported files.

“Yours now,” Killua said as Gon stared at the flashdrive in awe.

Gon blinked. His brain had scattered in a million directions and, now that he was present again, he looked up and found Killua packing up his things. “If you—If you  _wanted_ , I’m thinking about adding some accoustics since that’s, like, my ‘signature’ style. Would you want to… I dunno, maybe help me with it?”

“Can’t,” Killua said. Gon’s shoulders slumped, but when Killua looked back at him, he straightened up. “But if you record more, send all the instrumentals to me. If you want to, I mean. Share them with me.”

Gon beamed instantly. There were no words to describe how thrilled he was with Killua’s sudden cooperation. He nodded quickly, and wished Killua good luck at work that night as Killua headed off and left Gon alone with the rented accordion.

With the flash drive clasped firmly in his hand, Gon ticked another item off on his list and moved on to the next: His Friday Night Plans.

* * *

“I’m sorry you had to take off work to hang out with me. This weekend is just gonna be a bit…  _chaotic_ ,” Gon said, letting out a weary sigh. He smiled, faintly, but it felt numb and plastic on his face.

Kurapika took a sip of his tea and, crossing his legs, said, “It’s no problem. I’m not paying for school—just to live.”

“Loving how that suggests paying for school is the  _opposite_ of paying to live,” Gon laughed, and Kurapika pointed a finger at him and said, “Now you get it.”

They lapsed into silence. The numbness spread down to Gon’s fingers again as he licked his lips and looked sheepishly at his hands, brow furrowed. He cleared his throat and decided not to make it awkward. 

“I don’t think I can keep seeing you,” he said.

_Fuck, that was the opposite of how I meant to do this!_ he screamed internally, fingers shaking. He sucked in a shaky breath and looked up at Kurapika, who was now staring at him from his spot one stool down from Gon. 

Kurapika’s jaw slowly dropped, and whether it was to speak or simply to gawk, Gon wasn’t sure. Either way, he couldn’t shut up.

“It’s just—It’s really complicated right now, and I  _really_ like hanging out with you, but my life is just—It’s too chaotic for me to be dragging other people in. It’s just not  _fair_ for you to have to deal with  _me_ and all my problems—”

“Is this because of Killua?” Kurapika asked, simply, his expression still flatlined. His eyes searched Gon’s face as Gon shook his head quickly.

Gon put his hand over the bridge of his nose and said, “ _No_ —I mean, kind of? I don’t know. I wouldn’t even know where to  _begin_ to explain everything.”

Kurapika gave him a dull look and said, “Try me, Freecss. I’ve got  _literally_ all night.”

Gon put his head in his hands and moaned, “Oh, I’m so sorry—you had to call off work for this…”

“No, it’s fine, please, continue. By all means,” Kurapika said, and Gon shuddered in disgust of himself.

Gon thought about all the bullshit Killua had put him through thus far, chief among them being  _convincing everyone that they were dating_ . It was useful for the sake of keeping Ikalgo at a distance, but it nearly ruined his friendship with Zushi, complicated his relationship with Kurapika, and put Killua’s sister into a tizzy. As much as he wanted to blame himself for kickstarting that whole charade… 

He wanted to blame Killua for putting him in that position.

“Killua and I aren’t even dating,” Gon said. He slapped his hands down, gesturingly sharply. “And I’m not even  _poly_ . I don’t know where he came up with that! We’re just—We’re just  _roommates_ because we were both scammed and now both of our names are on a lease for a single bedroom apartment.  _There_ . I said it.  _Gosh_ .”

Gon put his forehead on the table and remained there for the period of silence that ensued. Kurapika soaked in the information, bit-by-agonizing-bit, before clearing his throat, shifting in his seat, and opening his mouth to speak. 

“You two… aren’t dating?” Kurapika said, and Gon shook his head miserably. “Killua said he doesn’t have a roommate.”

Gon straightened ever so slightly and sighed, “Well, neither of us were too keen on admitting that we were scammed. Or even to  _have_ a roommate. All the… secrecy started because Killua didn’t want me finding out about his… profession.”

Kurapika leant back in his seat, a sneer on his lips. “That bastard,” he said, kicking the leg of the table. Gon jumped. “I’ll ream his ass, I swear to God. With the amount of bullshit I put up with on a daily basis…”

Gon grimaced. “I’m sorry for lying to you. I really had no idea you and Killua knew each other when we first started going out.”

Kurapika shrugged and said, “So… what? Are you two gonna snog or whatever and start  _actually_ dating?”

Gon wrinkled up his nose. “Ew, no way. I  _don’t_ like Killua—I mean, not in… that way.”

“Come on. Who doesn’t?”

“It’s different when you room with someone.”

Kurapika let out a dark laugh. “Yeah, no, that doesn’t change anything.”

Gon tipped his head to the side, curious as to whether or not Kurapika spoke from experience. He shook the visual from his head. “Never mind that. The  _issue_ is that I need to convince someone  _else_ that I’m monogomous, so that it looks like I’m unavailable. For the moment. Until I get my bearings, you know?”

Kurapika pursed his lips. “I really don’t. But I’m intrigued now.”

Gon sighed. “You really don’t mind me talking about all this?”

He thought about it for a moment, staring off into the distance. At last, he crossed his arms and shook his head. “Not really, no. I just like gossip.”

Gon couldn’t imagine Kurapika ever meeting Ikalgo, so he explained the situation down to his precise reservations about diving straight into whatever it was Ikalgo wanted from him. “I barely  _know_ him anymore, and I don’t think I’m all that gung-ho about relationship stuff anyway! Like, I’m a romantic, don’t get me wrong, but Ikalgo’s more like…”

“Roses and candle lit dinners,” Kurapika said.

“Precisely, yeah. That’s what I’ve gathered, anyway,” Gon said, but perhaps it was just his Parisian version of their romance playing on repeat in his head. He shrugged, popped his lips, and said, “And so… everyone things I’m dating  _Killua_ and since Ikalgo saw him leaving my apartment…”

“You gotta stick with him. I get it,” Kurapika said with a sigh. He shrugged his coat off of the back of his seat and declared that he better be off. Gon stood with him, suddenly nervous about leaving things like this. They were on good terms, as far as Gon knew, but he couldn’t help but worry. “I will  _certainly_ be pestering Killua about getting scammed next time he’s at  _The Phantom_ . Mark my words.”

Gon tipped his head. “I thought he was working tonight, though.”

“Oh, he is. Tonight’s the big night,” Kurapika said as he slipped his arms into the sleeves of his coat. When Gon rose an eyebrow, Kurapika put a finger to his lips and explained, “He’s escorting to night—don’t tell the authorities.”

_Escorting?!_ Gon thought, bristling a little. It took a moment for him to recall sleeping on the living room floor with Killua and hearing about Killua’s fitting for a tux. He wondered why Killua hadn’t mentioned it sooner, or even during their entire session that day in the studios. “O-Oh! He told me about that. I didn’t realize it was tonight.”

“Wish him luck—he may be a rat bastard, but by God he’ll need it tonight,” he said. He put an arm out to Gon, and Gon hurried forward for the brief, but relieving hug. “I’ll come bother you two sometime now that I know you’re roommates.”

“Yes, please do,” Gon said, smiling past the way his throat tightened. Gon waved farewell to Kurapika and watched as Kurapika left the establishment. Gon cleared his throat of the knot and rubbed a hand over his chest. 

Quietly to himself, he whispered, “Well, that went better than expected…” but he didn’t have the slightest clue as to what Kurapika was capable of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 **Me encantaría salir contigo** = I'd love to take you out sometime  
> [return to text]
> 
> 2 **¿Podemos hablar ahorita solos?** = Could I talk to you alone?  
> [return to text]
> 
> 3 **Ya sabes cómo es la vieja** = You know how the old lady is.  
> [return to text]
> 
> 4 **¿Todavía hablas español?** = Do you still speak Spanish?  
> [return to text]
> 
> 5 **No confio en el** = I don't trust him  
> [return to text]
> 
> 6 **No seas ridículo. Yo soy lo suficientemente capaz de decidir con quién debería o no salir.** = Don’t be ridiculous. I am very much capable of deciding who I should and shouldn’t date.  
> [return to text]
> 
> 7 **Obviamente no, porque no estás conmigo en este momento.** = Clearly not, since you aren’t dating me right now.  
> [return to text]
> 
> 8 **Sé que ya no eres la misma persona** = I know you aren’t the same person anymore  
> [return to text]
> 
> 9 **Pero quiero enamorarme de tí una vez más. Haré lo que sea necesario para convencerte que soy mil veces mejor que tu novio.** = But I want to fall in love with you again. And I’ll do everything I can to convince you that I’m infinitely better than your boyfriend.  
> [return to text]
> 
> 10 **Al parecer no soy el único que llegó temprano. Andas emocionado, ¿O qué?** = It seems I wasn’t the only one who came early. Are you excited or what?  
> [return to text]


	19. It's The End Of The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killua has an event to attend that exhibits 3 striking revelations: A ghost of the present, past, and future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way I YODELED the entire time I wrote this chapter.  
> Also, [The Bop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8OyBtMPqpNY).

**K** illua loathed to be sitting in the back of a Tesla that evening when his mind was scattered elsewhere. He blamed his thoughts on Gon, seeing as they all revolved around that little shit, but he couldn’t pinpoint  _which_ part of Gon’s life had him more worked up. Did it have to do with their recording session?

_No_ , he thought, rubbing his thumb idly beneath the hem of his sleeve.  _This has to do with that guy who misgendered Gon_ .

How could Gon know a person like that? In fact, Gon seemed  _excited_ to see the guy. As much as he wanted to ask Gon about it, it wasn’t his place. He felt inclined, however, to spit in Ikalgo’s coffee mug if he ever got the chance.

“How are you feeling?” Pariston’s voice came from beside him, resting no more than an arm’s length away in the back seat of that Tesla.

Killua straightened a touch, his hand flattening over the front of his black suit and button-up shirt. “Fine. I’m glad to be here with you,” he said with a faint, charming smile that made the frustration in his gut churn to a boil of fury. How could he be sitting here playing  _doll_ when he could be recording with Gon or interrogating the rat bastard about Ikalgo. 

Who the hell did Ikalgo think he was? Did he  _really_ transfer to USFC  _just_ for Freecss?

“Oh, there’s no need for a facade,” Pariston hummed, the glow from his phone screen reflecting off of Killua’s window. Killua glanced at him, and Pariston offered a short smile. “Just be yourself.”

“Sounds like something a mom would say,” Killua said, to which Pariston praised with, “See? Infinitely better.”

Killua let out a hollow laugh. “This must be a kink of yours I have yet to hear about. Rest assured—stowing away my  _sass_ for the night. I’m not here to cause trouble.”

Pariston reached a hand out, and pressed it firmly to Killua’s arm. Killua shivered.  _Sly move_ , Killua thought, breath completely vanished, evaporated, vamos,  _I thought he was about to grab my thigh_ .

Killua met his eyes as Pariston said, “Perhaps I want you to cause trouble,” before turning back to his phone and leaving Killua’s arm be. 

The dinner was taking place at an elaborate ballroom event center where, surrounded by guilded sculptures and marble columns, Killua found himself thrust back into the life he used to have with his parents. The Zoldycks were a family of affluent individuals who surrounded themselves with well-behaved children to put on display at events like this just to garner the attention of impressive white men saying, “ _You’ve done so well raising them._ ”

It made him want to gag. 

Instead, however, he was here for a different but similar purpose: to be put on display. 

The first conversation he stood in on, Pariston turned to Killua to introduce him as nothing more than, “my nephew.”

The person seemed just as alarmed as Killua, but Killua was quicker to recover. He shook the man’s hand and said, “I know, shocking that people adopt.”

And that, it seemed, was precisely what Pariston had hoped for when he paid Killua under the table for his services. The bright way Pariston’s eyes lit up at Killua’s comment had Killua grinning, pleased that he had not only (likely) scored a tip, but had also managed to make one of the guests at the event laugh. 

As they mingled and brushed elbows with usually-stuffy business men, Killua kept to Pariston’s side through the first hour of their night. The guy  _had_ , after all, paid quite a hefty sum to get Killua there, and so Killua would oblige his presence. However, after the cocktails and the appetizers, they drifted from the cusp of the bar to find their seats, at which point Pariston plucked a flute of champaign from an oncoming silver tray and held it out in front of Killua.

Killua blinked at it before raising his hand to grasp the tall, glass neck of it. Pariston grinned at him and said, “You’re doing awfully well at this,  _nephew_ . Dare I say you’ve done this before?”

“Depends on what you mean by that,” Killua said. “If by… accompanying gentlemen beyond  _private doors_ , you’d be flattered to know you’re my first.”

Killua took a sip of champaign as he flattened a hand over the front of his tux. Pariston grinned, his eyes trailing over the attendants as the time called for everyone to take their seats. Considering the confidence in Pariston’s step, Killua assumed the man knew precisely where to go.

Sure enough, their names were posted at pristinely-set tables like they were at a goddamn wedding. This assigned seating tactic felt elementary to Killua, and Pariston seemed to have a similar idea. 

The man took their name tags and, as discretely as possible, placed them at the table behind them. Killua took the two discarded name tags and put them on the table that was intended for them. Pariston gave him a hidden thumbs-up as someone not too far away started in their direction, paused at the sight of Pariston, and immediately turned to leave.

“Oh, the man of the hour,” Pariston declared, pointing to the getaway. He put a hand on Killua’s shoulder and said, “You take a seat—I’ll be  _right_ back.”

Killua pulled his chair back as he watched Pariston half-jog after the disheveled-looking guy who looked more like a professor who had just rolled out of bed that morning after grading papers until the wee hours of the morning.

The man wove between tables and chairs as Pariston chased him down. The guy cursed when he looked over his shoulder and found Pariston right behind me. “Nope—No  _thank you_ , leave me alone, Hill,” he said, using someone’s walker to block Pariston’s path. 

“Ging, you delightful bastard, I knew you’d come,” Pariston teased, gliding past the walker and swinging it back around and into its rightful place beside the owner. He jogged up beside the man—Ging, as it were—and said, “I have  _quite_ the surprise for you—”

Ging paused in his escape to turn back to Pariston, who skidded to a halt, his smug, grinning face mere inches above Ging’s finger, poised directly at his nose. Ging shook his hand, waved dismissively at Pariston, and walked off once more, muttering, “I have no intention of indulging you and your  _surprises_ . I  _loathe_ surprises.”

“Yes, well,  _I_ loathe that  _you_ loathe surprises because I, in fact, love them,” Pariston preened as he caught up, hooked his arm around Ging’s, and spun him back around.

Ging shed his arm with a scoff and flung a hand up to stop Pariston from ruffling his hair. 

“Is that—? Are you  _graying?_ You’re turning into a silver fox now, aren’t you?” Pariston said.

Ging glowered at him. He tossed the tasseled ends of his scarf aside with the open flaps of his tweed blazer, hands on his hips and said, “I take it you plan on leaving the event anyway to follow me. Is that it?”

Pariston preened. “You know me so well,” he said, wistful and flattered.

“Right, well, and I can’t very well  _kill you_ to prevent either of your two scenarios from happening, can I?”

“Depends on the three scenarios that came to mind,” he said, hands clasped behind his back. He rose an eyebrow at Ging, prompting and eager, and Ging’s narrowed eyes only narrowed further. 

He pursed his lips and looked away, giving Pariston a  _perfect_ view of the gray hairs growing in behind his ears like the tufts of fluffy hair protruding from a cat’s ears. Before Pariston could pluck one out, just for safe-keeping, Ging turned back, decision made.

“One,” Ging started, and Pariston was all ears because Ging was giving him  _that look_ that said he would uppercut Pariston right then and there if he could, “I stay and you explain this ‘ _surprise_ ’ to me, in which case you’re a thorn in my side for the rest of the night until I ditch you at the valet.”

“And two?” Pariston hummed.

“ _Two,_ is that you’d wind up following me out of the venue and to the steakhouse I have reservations for  _three_ at in the case that you wound up being here so that I could A) avoid you and B) eat and drink a long island  _without_ social scrutiny, which I  _prefer_ .”

“Ah, a long island. Very sorority-girl of you. I love when you embrace your youth,” Pariston hummed. Before Ging could gray any further, Pariston stached a second and third champaign glass that night, one of which was glared at by Ging as Pariston presented it to him and said, “It’s not a long island, but anything will do.”

Ging took it with a vengeance and downed it like a shot as Pariston added, “And don’t you mean reservations for  _two?_ ”

“Not at all,” Ging said. He stalked back in the direction of his table—which was now  _their_ table, considering the rearrangement of name tags—and all but tossed the glass at one of the attending waiters. The waiter caught it in a panic, eyes wide as Pariston hurried past and apologized on behalf of Ging.

As he followed, he called after Ging, saying, “And what was that third option?”

“Also involves my reservations,” Ging said, and muttered off to the side, “Both at the stakehouse and for indulging you.” Luckily—or rather,  _un_ luckily—Pariston picked up on it and laughed.

During this exchange, Killua sat unaware of the chaos that was bound to ensue. He resisted the urge to check his phone, but ultimately broke that promise in order to text Kurapika and ensure that he was still alive and did so by including a password they had agreed upon so that Kurapika would know it was  _actually_ him. 

In the midst of sending the message, someone approached beside him and set a velvet clutch down in the broad space between Killua’s champaign and her napkin. 

Killua tucked his glass closer to his plate as he said, “Oh, sorry—I’ll get this out of your way—”

“It’s no problem—” she said at the same moment, and they both paused, their recognition peaking in a clash of cymbals and orchestral clamor that signalled the end of the pre-dinner charades.

Killua never experienced shock quite like this.

“Canary,” Killua whispered.

“I—” Canary started, and Killua’s heart pounded agonizingly hard in his chest. It felt like a hammer was about to crack his ribcage and leave air whistling out of his lungs. 

Canary’s signature look was still present that day in the form of a tuxedo not unlike Killua’s, only with a flare of color in her cherry red lipstick and cherry red blouse that bloomed with ruffles up to her throat. Her cuffs were accented with it, too, as were her perfectly manicured nails.

She always did wear gold jewelry, and that night was no different. It was accompanied by glittering gold eyeshadow that shined against her dark skin and the golden barrets in her black curls.

“You look  _amazing_ . Wow,” Killua said, surprised he even found his voice. It cracked, though, and he felt it all the way down to the part of him that wanted to die in that very same second.

As he cleared his voice, Canary smiled and said, “Thank you. And you look—great as well. Not gonna lie, I saw the white hair and thought you were ancient. Like, eighty at the least.”

Killua pressed his closed fist to his mouth, trying to gather his bearings as Canary took her seat beside him. They both cleared their throats, and Killua realized then that this was just as awkward for her as it was for him. 

“You never told us you were leaving,” she said, pointedly, busy popping open her clutch.

“I… never intended to,” Killua said.

“Alluka was heartbroken.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Canary freshened up her lipstick as she said, “And now you’re  _here_ . Of all places. Why is that?”

“I could ask the same,” he said. Canary snapped her hand mirror shut and Killua resisted the urge to flinch.  _Damn_ , he thought,  _I always turn stupid when she’s around. I can’t lie to her!_

And perhaps  _she_ was the main reason Killua couldn’t face them that night he left Alluka and Canary’s place for good.

“You know what I do. You know why I’m here,” she said, at which point Killua noticed that Pariston was on his way back, hot on the heels of that man he chased down earlier. 

“Why isn’t Alluka with you?” he asked, turning to Canary again. 

Canary studied him for a moment. A long, dreadful moment. Killua swallowed hard and said,  _Shit, is it really that bad now?_ “I would have brought her,” Canary said, and Killua couldn’t emphasize his sigh of relief more, “but I’m accompanying my boss tonight.”

Killua rose an eyebrow. As far as he was concerned, Canary  _was_ the head of her company. The business began as a startup her junior year of college—no more than twenty people, if that—at which point she was hired on as an intern, and then full-time post-grad with the promise of  _several_ promotions within the first year. One thing led to another and Canary was pulling the strings. 

So hearing that she even  _had_ someone higher-up than her was surprising. She never talked about any overbearing, narcissistic overseer. Didn’t people complain about bosses? That was what people did, didn’t they?

“Your boss?” Killua repeated. 

Canary gestured then to the man Pariston had been shepherding around. 

The man yanked out the seat beside Canary and sat with an annoyed huff, and Killua took one look at his disheveled appearance and decided that  _yes_ , he did, in fact, have the aesthetic of a crotchety professor. 

Canary didn’t seem at all fazed. In fact, she simply slid her glass of alcohol over and said, “Malibu and coke,” and the man took that like a shot as well.

Pariston claimed his seat beside Killua with a triumphant smile. He placed a hand behind Killua’s chair, and as Canary’s eye gravitated towards it, Pariston pointed to Canary’s boss, and Killua’s anxiety spiked.

“That man right there?” Pariston said, and the man glared at them both. “Is Ging Freecss.”

As if Killua’s brain hadn’t already imploded, it now exploded in a colorful assortment of curses.  _Freecss!?_ he thought, his mind racing back to Gon Freecss, the only Freecss he knew and the only one he ever imagined existing. Gon never spoke of his parents, let alone their  _professions_ . 

But there Killua could see it—an exact (albeit  _older_ ) rendition of Gon’s facial structure slapped and stretched onto the face of this decrepit professor who groaned in contempt.

“Oh, don’t parade me, Hill,” Ging groaned. He passed a hand over his face and dragged it down to his chin. “Who’s this kid anyway, huh?”

“Oh, of course, this—” Pariston started, but Killua’s brain had already caught up to him at that point, and Canary being there had plunged him into overdrive.

Pariston had been going around introducing him as a nephew—never by name, since they never agreed to that, and so Killua was left with a mostly blank, crystal-clear slate that Canary could see right through. She’d call Pariston out on the nephew lie, and something told Killua that Pariston would catch on in an instant if he just told Ging—

“Killua,” Killua said at the exact moment Pariston gestured to him and said, “Killua Zoldyck.”

Killua’s heart plummeted from his chest. 

Ging straightened, just a fraction, to look at Canary. Canary was staring at Pariston with her brow knit, looking thoroughly frazzled by the strings of fate that brough Killua to Pariston’s side that night. Killua, likewise, looked at Pariston with the unfathomable urge to scream, “ _HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW MY NAME_ ?”

Pariston was still sporting that plastic smile of his that looked oh-so fake but was oh-so genuine. Seeing it informed Killua that Pariston had planned this. He knew precisely why Killua couldn’t scream it, and it was because his actual relative was sitting directly beside him trying to put the puzzle pieces together.

“Zoldyck?” Ging repeated. He rose an eyebrow at Killua then and, with a slight huff of distaste, said, “Sorry to disappoint, but this is an incredibly anticlimactic surprise. I admit, you had me for a second there, but as it turns out—I really don’t care about this.”

Pariston smiled. “Oh really? I assumed ‘Zoldyck’ was familiar to you, considering Canary’s a Zoldyck—”

“ _Half_ Zoldyck,” Canary corrected.

“—And your son is flatmates with Killua.”

If it were possible to hear a pen drop amidst an entire ballroom of grown adults, Killua would have heard it. He would have told the offending pen-dropper to  _shut up_ because he couldn’t process this without complete and absolute silence. 

_How in the world would Pariston know this?_ Killua thought, paling second-by-second. He knew there was always a risk of stalkers at  _The Phantom_ , but he never thought they’d go this far or risk his entire reputation in front of his sister’s wife.

Killua turned to Pariston and, voice hoarse and quiet, whispered, “How do you—?”

“Simple. I personally filed your leasing papers,” Pariston said, tapping a finger to his cheek. He leant his elbow against the table with a smile as the pieces of the puzzle clicked in Killua’s head.

Canary turned to Ging and said, “I didn’t know you had a son.”

Ging was staring, unblinkingly, at Pariston. “I don’t have a son.”

Pariston hissed with a fake grimace. “You really have been missing out,” Pariston hummed, shaking his head. “Daddy’s little girl has grown into a handsome young boy.”

Ging shoved to his feet faster than Killua could blink. His chair nearly toppled behind him, but Canary caught it before it could clatter. Canary yanked her hand back as Ging crossed behind her, behind Killua, and to where Pariston was taking his dear sweet time getting to his feet.

“What the fuck is this,” Ging hissed. 

Pariston splayed his hands out and said, “A surprise! See? You’re surprised, aren’t you?”

_The only reason I’m here is because of this damn lease situation_ , Killua thought, gripping the edge of the table like he was about to bolt.  _The only reason I’m_ here _is because of Pariston-fucking-Hill—_

It had been such a tolerable night until that moment Ging put a finger up in front of Pariston’s face and said, “There are  _two_ scenarios that can come of this.”

“Go on,” Pariston prompted.

“One, I do nothing. Two, I riot.”

“Oh, I can only imagine which one you’ll pick—” Pariston sang just before [Ging](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SBATrLRWySg&list=RDQMypa9axWzb74&start_radio=1) geared back and bashed his forehead into Pariston’s nose. 

Chairs skidded. Glasses clanked on their tables, plates and silverware shaking as Canary lunged to her feet to stop her boss from starting a good old fashioned tavern brawl. Ging, however, had Pariston by the lapels and was now flinging him across their table with a force and strength akin to an MMA wrestler.

As Pariston scrambled across the table like a fish out of water, Killua  _really_ wished he had something to smoke. Instead, he propped his elbow up over the back of his chair, crossed his legs, and watched Ging grapple for Pariston’s ankles to drag his limp body back across the table. 

There, he braced Pariston with a hand balled up against his tuxedo coat, wound his fist back, and—

* * *

“How do you know Mr. Hill?” Canary asked that evening at the police station, nursing the stuffy end of a bloody nose after Ging had inadvertently elbowed her in the face on a backswing.

She touched a tissue gingerly beneath her nose as Killua sighed, “You don’t want to know,” because it was as close to the truth as he could get. “But it sounds like he’s the reason my lease situation is fucked. Glad I know that now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I got a single bedroom apartment,” Killua explained. 

“Ah, yes, Alluka was telling me as much,” she said. 

“Yeah, except she doesn’t know that I was scammed into signing a lease with another person—which is… Ging’s son. I guess.” He grimaced, shaking his head in distaste. 

Canary tossed her tissue into the bin. “I didn’t even know he had a son.”

“I didn’t know his son had a father figure of any kind,” Killua confessed. The two of them looked at one another. “Perhaps he…?”

Canary sighed, dejected. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Killua crossed his arms and studied her for a moment before confessing, “To be honest, I didn’t know there was someone  _you_ answered to.”

“That’s because I don’t. Answer to him, I mean,” Canary said, tipping her head to the side. “I run the company and Ging… travels the world.”

At that moment, the door across the station opened and Pariston Hill stepped out with a bruised, swollen nose and a black eye. His tux was ruffled, but not torn, and the first few buttons of his shirt beneath it were now undone. Killua narrowed his eyes at Pariston, unable to refrain from the loathing he felt for even trusting the man. 

Pariston approached them slowly, accompanied by an officer who veered off to the front desk. 

“Thank you for coming. I’ve been looking forward to this for quite some time,” Pariston said.

Killua rolled his eyes. “Oh, before or  _after_ I signed my lease?”

“Same time, actually. It’s very rare that you get a Zoldyck and a Freecss to tour the same apartment,” Pariston said, and before Killua could add to the number of bruises on the man’s face, Canary put a hand out in front of him. “Did you expect anything less from me, Canary?”

“Of course not. You always pull shit like this,” Canary said. “Where did you even find out that Ging had a son?”

Pariston gestured to Killua, and Killua realized then that it was because of their interest in the apartment that Pariston ever thought to act on this ridiculous heist. The reason being? He knew Pariston ever since his first day in  _The Phantom_ . He never knew a thing about Pariston outside of the club, but evidently, Pariston knew him. 

Pariston Hill knew everything about him.

“I take it you have a means of getting home that you prefer?” Pariston said to Killua.

“Yeah, and it doesn’t involve getting in a car with you,” Killua said. 

“Is that any way to thank me for your tux and that lovely dinner?”

“We didn’t  _have_ dinner,” Killua reminded him, since Ging and Pariston completely shattered the table they would have been eating on.

Pariston waved a dismissive hand. And, considering Pariston paid him half of the total share before the event, Killua decided that he could risk never receiving the other half. He’d rather risk it. No amount of money could convince him to get in the back of a car with Pariston again.

He passed Canary a card on his way out. She lifted it up, staring after him, dumbfounded. “And what the hell am I supposed to do with your business card?”

“Give it to Ging for me, will you!” he chimed, backing through the front door of the station. He waved to Canary and made a ‘call me’ gesture before spinning back around and disappearing into the night.

Canary and Killua looked to the card. In red ink, Pariston had drawn a heart next to the phone number on the back. 

“Unbelievable,” Canary sighed, slapping the card down. “I don’t blame him, though. He’s only able to pin Ging down once a year, if that.”

“More like ‘ _peg_ ’,” Killua snorted, and Canary let out a startled laugh.

The two of them were giggling over it like a bunch of schoolyard kids when Ging Freecss himself was escorted out into the foyer. Canary hopped to attention, hurrying to the front desk to finalize everything as Ging approached, looking more or less rough for wear but altogether still alive. 

Killua couldn’t stop staring at Ging’s goddamn  _face_ . Holy  _shit_ , the guy looked like a carbon copy of Gon—if Gon was a silver fox with facial hair, anyway. Ging had his dull, plaid scarf looped around the back of his neck, letting the tassels hang free all the way down to the low hem of his trench coat. 

Ging stuffed his bruised hands in his pockets. Killua brought his eyes back up and realized that Ging was staring directly at him.

The officers bid them farewell, and Canary led the way back to Killua. “Do you need a ride?” she asked. “I’m driving.”

“No, I’m driving,” Ging said.

Canary rolled her eyes. “Ging goes forty in school zones.”

Ging slapped her in the arm and, shielding his mouth from the officers nearby, said, “ _Careful_ . We’re at the station.”

“ _Again_ ,” Canary said, and Killua couldn’t help but smile.

“Thanks for the offer,” Killua said, “but I  _actually_ need to grab something to eat now.”

“Then let’s get something to eat,” Canary suggested, leading the way out of the station. Ging squinted at her, suspicious, but followed suit regardless. It took several moments for Killua to realize that he was, in fact, getting dinner with his sister’s wife and his roommate’s father.

_Weird_ , he thought as he ducked into the back of Canary’s vehicle. As everyone got settled in for the ride, Killua offered up a suggestion. “We… could ask Gon if he wanted to join us?”

“Gon?” Canary repeated when Ging said nothing, and Killua realized that Ging had no clue who he was talking about.

“My… roommate.”

“No,” Ging said, short and clipped. Canary put the car into drive and offered Killua a shrug through the rearview mirror. 

Killua took to studying Ging’s profile from where he sat behind the driver’s seat. Ging had his elbow resting on the center console, his phone in hand, the glow of which was dimmed among the passing street lamps. The car became deadly quiet and almost ceased to exist at all. Time slowed until it came to a standstill at every red light along the way to their destination, of which Killua had no clue. Ging went on playing sudoku until Canary began looking for parking spots, at which point he played the part of a backseat driver, criticizing Canary’s parallel parking.

Canary put a hand against the back of Ging’s headrest and looked over her shoulder as she backed up and Ging said, “You do realize you’re an inch away from scuffing my car?”

“This isn’t even your car,” Canary sang under her breath. 

“Considering you paid for it with money you earned at your current position—”

“Who’s name is on the check? Mine. Who’s name is on the car insurance? Yours truly.”

“Who’s name is on your paycheck?”

“Mine,” Canary said, throwing the car into park and returning Ging’s pointed glare before twisting back around to look at Killua. She smiled sweetly, her golden earrings jingling. “You ready?”

“God, why do you say that like we’re going to the zoo?” Killua groaned. He pushed out of the backseat and hurried to the sidewalk as Canary called after him, “Did not!” to which Ging replied, “It really did come across like that.”

Canary groaned and exited the car. Killua paused just past the curb his eyes going up to the sign above the tinted windows of what appeared to be a restaurant. He could see the reddish glow of table lamps through the window, however, and through the frosted glass on the door. 

“A steakhouse?” Killua commented as Ging walked past and pushed directly inside. Canary slowed beside Killua, who turned to raise an eyebrow at her. 

She shrugged. “Ging prefers steakhouse vegan mac and cheese and martinis.”

“Is there such a thing? At a  _steakhouse?_ ” Killua said, baffled, and Canary merely shrugged.

They wandered in after Ging, who looked sorely out of place in his disheveled appearance. Canary and Killua, on the other hand, looked fabulously in line with the recommended dress code. Ging gave his name to the woman at the hostess bar, and she walked them past the front of the house, beyond the glossy, mahogany bar, and to a room filled with white table cloths, candle-lit centerpieces, and red velvet chairs and booths.

At their booth, they were welcomed by a severely well-paid waiter and a cart of their finest delicacies that evening including, but not limited to, slabs of steak as thick as Killua’s forearm, bacon as thick as Killua’s wrist, lobsters (still alive) the size of his head, and oysters, fresh out of the tank.

After the waiter left to put in their bar tab, Ging put down his phone. Canary had ordered his drink for him. “I’m intrigued by the bacon.”

“Ah,” Canary hummed. Killua looked to her for an explanation. “It’s one thing to endorse the commercial meat industry, but they must have a more humane seller for their pork.”

“No point swearing off of certain foods if indulging them once in a while protects their rights as citizens of the planet,” Ging said, reclining back against the booth’s upholstry. When he met Killua’s eyes, he poised a finger up at the sky, as if about to praise the Holy Lord, but instead said, “Bees. I love honey.”

“Interesting,” Killua hummed. He looked across the restaurant, which was wide and open, but thoroughly packed. There wasn’t a single table open among all of the white table cloths and booths. At the door, Ging had given a reservation for three under his name. “Why did you have a reservation for three?”

“Same reason I gave Canary my bail money last night,” Ging said, gesturing to Canary, who threw her napkin down with a huff and cried, “ _That_ was what the bonus was for? Christ, Ging…”

“And… what reason is that, exactly?” he prompted, resting both forearms on the table, his eyes on Gon’s father.

“One of three things was bound to happen tonight, and I was certain of one factor, which was that Hill would be there. From that I deduced that I could either A) see him before interacting and effectively avoid confrontation, in which case he would likely know I was already there and proceed to follow me out of the venue and follow me here. Alternatively, B) I could stay and hear what he’d have to say—which had to do with you and… um…”

“Your… son?” Killua offered, both eyebrows on the ceiling.

Ging awkwardly cleared his throat. “Or C) otherwise known as the most likely scenario, that we would be kicked from the event, arrested, and wound up with the three of us here. Albeit, excluding you. I assumed Hill would be joining us.”

Killua stared at him for a moment as Ging took a glass of water, his voice having momentarily been lost after that break to do with his son. Killua glanced at Canary, who gestured as if to say that this was a regular occurance. 

“You forgot about a fourth option,” Killua said. 

Ging paused, glass to his lips. It seemed no one had ever said that to him. He lowered his water glass down just as the waiter came by with their beverages. As Canary thanked the waiter, Ging said to Killua, “And what would the fourth option be, assuming you’re right.”

“To not go to the event at all,” he said.

His answer drew a collective silence across the table. He took a sip of his soda as he watched Canary blink slowly at him, and then again at Ging, who looked like he was on the verge of a hernia. 

Instead of answering, Ging went for his martini, at which point Canary said, “Yeah, why  _did_ we go to the event if you knew this would happen?!”

* * *

After their dinner that cost approximately as much as Killua’s rent, they left the restaurant and returned to the car where, on the driver’s side, Canary offered to drive Killua back to his place. 

It simply reminded him of one crucial fact: that Alluka thought he and Gon were dating and not, in fact, roommates. “Wait, Canary,” Killua said, holding a hand to her arm. Canary paused, her door half-open. 

They both glanced inside where Ging was back to playing sudoku. Canary shut the door. 

“Please pretend like… you don’t know anything about Gon and I,” Killua said, shaking his head. “It’s really complicated right now and Alluka doesn’t  _actually_ know what’s going on.”

Canary stepped closer to whisper, “Yeah, I thought you two were  _dating_ . I didn’t realize you two were roommates as well—”

“We  _aren’t—_ ” Killua started, only to huff. He put a hand to his forehead and cursed his inability to lie around her. Realizing what Canary had thought all that night had him bristling with distaste. “Gon and I aren’t  _dating_ . Alluka just  _thinks_ we are. She doesn’t know that we’re living together.”

“What’s with all the secrecy?” Canary said, and Killua could only roll his eyes because he didn’t have a good enough answer—at least not anymore, not after Pariston Hill blabbed about everything directly in front of her. “It will only cause more trouble in the long run.”

Killua gruffly crossed his arms and said, “I’ll… talk to Gon about it.”

“Promise me that you’ll  _actually_ do it,” she ordered, and followed up with her pinkie held out to him. Killua swallowed at the sight of her many rings, chief among them being the diamond wedding ring he helped Alluka pick out all those years ago. 

Killua hooked his pinkie onto hers and said, “Promise,” as the purr of traffic passed behind them. 

After entering the vehicle, Canary punched in Killua’s address and followed the route back to the front of Killua’s apartment complex. From down the street, Killua could see a faint light on at the living room window. He glanced up at it as he stepped out of the car. He leant back in to thank them for the ride and, begrudgingly, agreed to text Canary more often (he wouldn’t).

He shut the door and waved them off like a grandmother waving to her grandkids from the front porch of some country cottage. When they were out of sight and around the corner, only then did Killua enter the apartment and make his way up the steps. 

Gon heard Killua’s keys turning in the door before Killua ever stepped foot into the apartment. He had been thinking about Kurapika’s reminder, that Killua was escorting that night, and it was all that was on his mind as he sat and twiddled his thumbs in the living room. Try as he might, he couldn’t focus on a damn thing other than the ticking clock, which drew closer and closer to midnight. How long did events like that last? He couldn’t be certain.

But then, Killua was walking in, and Gon was already on his feet and at the foyer archway, saying, “Welcome home,” as he watched Killua toe off his fancy leather shoes.

Killua still looked smart in his black tux and polished black vest over a simple, dark button up. It made his pale complexion, eyes, and hair pop. Killua tugged at the hems of his sleeves as he stepped into the hallway and paused to look at Gon.

_Fuck_ , Killua thought, instantly reminded of who he just spent the evening with. After a split second, however, the harsher edges of Ging’s frown-lines, furrowed brow, and facial hair faded from Gon’s wide open expression, and the worry creasing between his brows.

Killua cleared his throat awkwardly. “Hey,” he said, and passed Gon to head to his room. 

Gon didn’t linger. If Killua wanted to talk about it, he would—Gon was certain of it. After all, they had a  _moment_ that night they slept out in the living room. Didn’t that warrant some sort of trust between them? Gon mused over it as he went back to sitting at the kotatsu, lips pursed, and his fingers brushing against his chin.

Killua frowned at his suit coat after he shucked it off. He hung it in his closet where he hesitated to do anything at all. All he wanted to do was talk about how bizarre his night was, but there was no way to articulate it.

But it involved Gon, and Gon ought to know. He didn’t know  _what_ Gon’s relationship was with his father, but whatever the case, perhaps this information was useful.

Killua silently emerged from his room. He stood at the top of the stairs, hands tingling. Perhaps he was going into shock? He wasn’t quite sure, but he felt it jittering up to his skull like both of his arms had fallen asleep.

“I…” he started, voice hoarse.

Gon turned to look back at him, one hand leant against the rug and the other still on his chin. Gon’s eyes met his, and Killua managed to speak again.

“I had dinner with your father,” Killua said.

Gon, to his credit, reacted immediately and in a way Killua didn’t expect. He laughed and said, “Funny. I don’t have a dad,” and turned back around. He giggled a little, shaking his head, and Killua thought to himself,  _What the fuck is happening?_

Killua stepped across the apartment, his socks making his footsteps all but silent against the wood. He rounded the kotatsu to see Gon’s expression, and Gon didn’t look much like…  _anything_ , really. Not sad, or mad, or even confused. 

“You don’t… have a dad?” Killua repeated.

Gon rolled his eyes and settled back on the textbook lying open on the table. “I mean, I guess I  _do_ , but I’ve never met him. His name is—”

“Ging Freecss,” Killua said, and Gon's eyes snapped up to his. They stared at each other for a long moment until Gon’s jaw slowly dropped open and Killua said, “I had dinner with him. Tonight.”

“Ging—You had—” Gon said before uttering a string of incomprehensible words that had Killua jolting in surprise. Gon shook his head, hands in his hair. He clutched his fingers into fists, his hair sticking in all directions as he cried, “My dad hired you to be an escort?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *strumming frantically on a guitar*  
> IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT AND I FEEL FIIIIINE  
> THIS MEANS:  
> 1\. NO FEAR  
> 2\. CAVALIER  
> 3\. RENEGADE AND  
> 4\. STEERING CLEAR,  
> A TOURNAMENT, A TOURNAMENT, A TOURNAMENT OF LIES,  
> OFFER ME:  
> A) SOLUTIONS  
> OFFER ME  
> B) ALTERNATIVES AND  
> C) I DECLINE.


	20. Every Breath You Take

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Bop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OMOGaugKpzs&list=PLd9auH4JIHvupoMgW5YfOjqtj6Lih0MKw&index=3)

**“S** o… you  _weren’t_ an escort for my dad,” Gon reiterated, and for the hundredth time, Killua nodded against the hand he used to hold his head up above the kotatsu table. 

Gon put his elbow to the table surface and sighed. Killua glanced at him, curious as to what, exactly, was happening. “I feel…  _weird_ calling him ‘dad’. Do I just call him ‘Ging’?”

“Call him whatever you want. He started a  _literal_ brawl in a white-collared event full of CEOs,” Killua said. He dropped his hand down as Gon hummed, sounding far away. “You’ve  _really_ never met him?”

Gon shook his head. “No. My Aunt Mito raised me,” he said, only to shake his head. “ _Mom_ . She’s basically my  _mom_ . I don’t—I don’t know who my  _actual_ mom is, but she’s basically it.”

“And she never…  _talked_ about Ging?”

Again, Gon shook his head. “Whenever my abue mentioned him, my ma usually changed the subject. Or she’d start cursing at him. Or… throw something. She doesn’t think fondly of him.”

Killua licked his bottom lip and sighed, “Right.” because he didn’t know what else to say to that. Sure, he had family issues, but he didn’t  _talk about them_ . He didn’t even know how people would cope with the amount of shit on his plate, so he just kept it to himself.

But now he was intrigued, so he decided to keep Gon talking. “Did you know he lived in San Francisco?”

Gon shook his head. “No. I didn’t even know he was in the US, honestly. I figured he was still back home. Like, in Mexico.”

“Oh. Does that… bother you?” Killua asked, and Gon glanced up at him, lips pursed. “I mean, it’s fine if you don’t want to meet your dad. I guess I just want to know how you… feel about him?”

“Indifferent,” Gon decided. He pushed to his feet then and said, “I think I’m gonna go to bed now.”

Killua watched Gon walk offto the open bedroom door. He had hoped telling Gon would ease some of his own anxieties about the night, but it only fueled them. As dismissive as Gon was trying to be, Killua was all to familiar with liars.

Gon shut his bedroom door behind him. He turned off the lights and, dressed in his grubby basketball shorts and tshirt, collapsed onto his bed. He wormed his way under the blankets and laid there, facing the window, his brow strung tight. It grained on his aching brain and the muscles in his forehead until the morning, when he didn’t realize he fell asleep like that and woke up with a raging headache. 

Distantly, he heard the buzzer in the foyer going off. It was only nine, which meant that Killua was probably still around to see who was at the door. Sure enough, Gon’s phone blinked on the pillow next to him—a text from Killua.

Gon picked up his phone, curious and frowning. He couldn’t seem to unstick the sour expression from his face.

“ _Ikalgo’s at the door. Do you want me to answer it?_ ”

Ikalgo was in the same boat Gon was in, and realizing this had Gon realizing the very reason his forehead hurt so much.  _His father_ —No, Ging Freecss. Just Ging. 

Sure, he could go around telling Killua, Zushi, or even Knuckle that his father was back, but they were never there. They weren’t there for the eighteen years of his life in which Ging just  _didn’t exist_ . He had no notion of a father. Aunt Mito was it all—his primary caregiver, his guardian, his mother in all sense of the word.

Gon replied to Killua and decided to get ready for the day as he waited for Ikalgo to come up. He weaseled himself into a pair of jeans and tucked his pajama tshirt into it. 

“You’re being ridiculous,” Gon told himself with a huff, aggressively straightening out his shirt and jeans. “Ging’s just a man—you’re a man! You never have to see him.” 

He threw his bedroom door aside and marched out into the living space. Killua was already back to the kitchen, making an egg for himself on the stove. Gon went to join him, arms folded tightly over his chest. The two of them watched the egg sizzle and pop in the grapeseed oil before Gon said, “I made a lot of food yesterday.”

“I saw.”

“You’re welcome to help yourself. I put a post it note with your name on a few containers.”

“Yeah, I saw,” Killua said. After a moment of silence in which Gon tugged their roommate agreement off of the fridge, Killua glanced sparingly at Gon and said, “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” Gon said, quietly as he slipped the paper into a drawer. 

A knock sounded on their door, so Gon hurried off to answer it. He peered through the peep hole—just in case—and found Ikalgo standing there with his eye right up against scope. Gon recoiled back with a giggle and unlocked the door. 

“H-Hey, Ikalgo—I didn’t know you were stopping by,” Gon said, heat flushing up his neck as Ikalgo stepped in.

The guy was wearing a pair of washed blue jeans and an open plaid shirt rolled up to his elbows. It was a classic, casual look on him that really  _shouldn’t_ have looked as great as it did, and yet there Gon was, fanning himself discretely as he turned away.

He cleared his throat as Ikalgo said, “You never gave me your number. A grandes males, grandes remedios.[1]”

Gon gasped, horrified with himself. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. Here—I can give you it now—”

“It’s no problem, really,” Ikalgo said as they sputtered uselessly to each other on the cusp of the foyer archway. Off in the kitchen, Killua aggressively flipped his egg over on the pan, his initial desire for sunny side up demolished. 

After handing Ikalgo the phone back, their eyes met and Gon swore he heard the angels singing in the distance. 

He stumbled back into the living room, blushing like a maniac and rubbing at his hair. Only then did he remember that Killua was there and gave a frantic gesture in Killua’s direction. “Oh, uh, Killua’s here.”

“Yeah, I know. He buzzed me in,” Ikalgo said, offering a light wave to Killua, who eyed Ikalgo from over his shoulder, looked at Gon, and went back to the stove. 

Gon smiled apologetically at Ikalgo. “He’s not a morning person…” 

Ikalgo gestured to the two of them as he wandered towards the center of the living room and asked, “Does he… usually stay over at your place?” and Gon wished he would have said it in Spanish.

Killua all but slapped the spatula down and Gon flinched. 

Gon knew what he wanted to say, but he loathed how being in Ikalgo’s company suddenly made him question the barrier his “relationship” made. But then Ikalgo went and said shit like that and Gon was glad he didn’t come clean.

“Y-Yeah, we’re  _dating_ ,” Gon said, glancing at Killua. Killua said nothing as he turned to rest his hip against the counter, plate in hand, and proceeded to eat standing up as he watched Gon and Ikalgo from the outskirts. 

When Gon gave him a “ _What the fuck?_ ” look, Killua shrugged and took a bite of toast.

Clearly, “dating” wasn’t enough of an excuse for Ikalgo. He made a look Gon would have expected from some elderly lady passing on the streets thinking to herself, “ _Millennials_ .”

Killua scoffed and said, “Didn’t think you’d be so old-fashioned, grandpa.”

“Killua!” Gon gasped, but couldn’t hide the startled laugh of amusement that escaped him. He put a hand to his mouth, grinning, as Ikalgo rose an eyebrow at him. 

“I just don’t like that it feels like you two are living together when you’re dating,” Ikalgo said, and this comment sobered the both of them. 

Gon waved his hands dismissively. “We  _aren’t_ living together.”

Killua thought to himself,  _So much for trying to come clean about everything_ . Gon never seemed all that interested in lying, but he did so because Killua asked. This, however, gave Killua the distinct impression that Gon  _wanted_ to lie about this to Ikalgo.

And Killua couldn’t really blame him.

And, so, to put the icing on the cake, Killua pushed off of the counter. He transferred his plate to one hand so that the other could pass around Gon’s shoulder blades. He snickered at the sight of Gon’s flushed ears up close before Gon turned to look up at him, eyes wide. 

He felt the miniscule tremble that went through Gon’s shoulders when Gon caught sight of Killua’s diabolical smile. “Would it be so bad to live with me?” he teased before laying a kiss on Gon’s forehead. 

It was just a split second, executed just as Killua passed him to head to the kotatsu. Gon felt his soul ascend from this dimension into the next as he did a complete 180 just to watch Killua walk by. When he spun back around, dizzy and disoriented, he found Ikalgo’s eyes honed in on the back of Killua’s head.

“Um…” Gon started, drawing Ikalgo’s attention back to him. His wide, dark eyes reminded Gon of a bright-eyed puppy, and he melted at the sight of them. “Did you, um, just come here for my number or…?”

“ _That_ and I also wanted to see if you’d want to go for a walk with me since I don’t have weight training this morning. I’m not really familiar—at all, really—with the area. We could get coffee or something—”

“That sound nice,” Gon said with a soft smile.

Ikalgo smiled, and Gon melted all over again at those  _dimples_ . They  _had_ to be illegal. 

Killua was so furious for no particular reason—perhaps it was because he couldn’t eat in peace in his room, which didn’t technically exist to Ikalgo, or perhaps it was because his fake boyfriend just agreed to what was clearly a date. Either or, he never inhaled a fried egg so quickly and so thoroughly before in his life just so he could pointedly dropp his fork on the table to get their attention.

Killua propped his elbow up on the table and met Ikalgo’s eyes. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

Before Gon could even summon the good sense to convince God to open the earth beneath his feet and swallow him whole, Ikalgo put his hands on his hips, turned to Killua, and said, “If you don’t mind, it would just be Gon and I. We have a lot to catch up on.”

“Oh, of course, so you can…? Convince him to date you instead, is that it?” Killua said, and Ikalgo rose an eyebrow at him. “I’m not  _stupid_ , you know.”

“Neither am I,” Ikalgo said, taking a step towards the kotatsu as Gon feebily put a finger up, like he was raising his hand in the middle of class during a debate. Both parties ignored him. “Which is why I’m quite confident that I’m better suited for her—”

“ _Him_ ,” Killua hissed, damn near close to bending his fork.

Ikalgo closed his eyes, damn near close to strangling  _something_ . Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, “Sorry. I know.”

“I-It’s fine, really,” Gon squeaked. “It takes a while, I get it.”

“It takes a while, yeah, for cis het dude-bros,” Killua said. 

“He is  _not_ a cis het dude-bro,” Gon said, gesturing to Ikalgo. Ikalgo blinked at him, and Gon stammered, “H-He’s just… cis het.”

“What does that mean?” Ikalgo said.

“Born a guy, identifies as a guy, attracted to the opposite gender,” Killua droned, pushing to his feet. “AKA bottom of the future pecking order once we dismantle the patriarchy in a milennia.”

Ikalgo stared at him, and Gon whithered at the look of absolute repulsion on both of their faces. It didn’t help that he was still reeling from Killua’s intrusion. Before either of them could open their mouths again, Gon pushed between them and grabbed Killua by the wrist.

“I need to talk to you—my room,  _now_ ,” Gon hissed, giving Killua’s arm a firm yank.

Killua didn’t give in until he made his distaste abundantly clear by pegging Ikalgo with two fingers towards Ikalgo’s chest, which he then redirected to his eyes and back again. Ikalgo mimicked it, muttering an insult under his breath as he watched Gon herd Killua into his room.

Gon shoved Killua out of sight and glanced back at Ikalgo with an apologetic smile. Only then did he shut the bedroom door behind them and turn with a groan of contempt in Killua’s direction.

“Do you  _have_ to be so rude 24/7?” Gon seethed as quietly and calmly as possible.

“He’s got the mentality of a Gen X-ers—I was practically  _born_ to fight the entirity of Gen X,” Killua said.

“He’s—! He’s  _barely_ a Milennial!” Gon whisper-shouted, flustered beyond belief.

Killua slapped his hands together, rolling his eyes. “We’re  _Gen Z_ , get your facts straight,” he snapped.

“I don’t want to fight you on—fundamental generational disparities!” Gon said, and if he was surprised with himself for having blurted that out, Killua was even more so.

They both blinked at one another, thoroughly stunned by where the conversation went. Gon put a hand to his forehead and muttered, “Aye yai yai…” as Killua sighed, relaxing back on his heels, shoulders straightening once again. 

Now composed, Killua said, voice hushed, “Do you want me to be your fake boyfriend or not?”

Gon’s shoulders bristled. “Yes, but—”

“Okay, then this isn’t about me anymore. Clearly you have issues with Ikalgo that make you want to lie directly to his face about this,” he said, and when Gon fell silent, utterly caught, Killua continued. “Then if I was your boyfriend, I’d be  _pissed_ that Ikalgo even spoke to me like that—or you for that matter. It’s obvious that he thinks our relationship is weak enough for you to ditch me to go to him.”

Gon put a nervous, trembling hand to his cheek, and then his chin, his fingers rubbing beneath his lip. He paced the floor and worried himself to pieces. He felt his brain starting to overheat and fry with the stress of it. 

Killua’s words made him crumble to pieces in a matter of seconds. “Oh no—Oh no, oh no, what do we do?” he moaned, dragging his hands down his cheeks. Killua opened his mouth to answer, but Gon was on a blubbering tangent. “I really like him and I really care about him but I’m—! I’m not ready for that kind of commitment! I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d  _love_ a boyfriend who’d take me out tfor food and get me flowers and go on morning walks with me—not that… I’m a morning person or anything, but I’d totally consider it if—”

“Jesus Christ,” Killua muttered to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“—But I barely  _know_ the guy anymore—! If he swept me off my feet now I’d scream bloody murder and call it kidnapping—” he went on, pacing back to where Killua was, only to turn for another lap around his mattress.

“Gon, for Chrissake,” Killua said, snapping his fingers in front of Gon’s face. Gon startled with a squeak, blinking fast. “I get it, you’re looking for Prince-fucking-Charming, and I hate to break it to you, but Ikalgo isn’t it. Not right now, anyway.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Gon sighed, shoulders slumping. “So what do we do?”

“We need to convince him we’re a power couple. Get him on board with  _our_ relationship so he holds off on pursuing you for a while,” Killua explained.

Gon nodded.  _Yes_ , he thought,  _that seems like a good idea. Definitely doable_ .

There was very little, however, that he understand about being perceived as an authentic couple. 

He discovered this approximately the  _second_ they got out of the apartment complex. After strapping into their shoes, zipping up their jackets, and locking the front door behind them, the three of them made their way down to the first floor of the complex. Ikalgo held the door for them, which Gon thanked him for as he walked by.

When his hand swayed back, a cool, solid hand grasped onto it. Gon startled at the touch, about to retract. In the process, he pulled the hand closer and found Killua attached to it. 

Killua pushed his fingers between Gon’s, his wrist touching the back of Gon’s, and his skin displaying all of the rough edges and marks of a pole dancer. The calouses were hard like pebbles under the pads of his skin just beneath his fingers, and in the damp, foggy San Francisco air, they felt dry to the point of flakey. 

But his grip was firm and confident—something that pulled Gon back to the concert where he had watched in awe as Killua hoisted himself upside down with nothing but a hand on the pole above him. 

Gon’s cheeks flushed at the memory of it as he watched, speechless, as Killua turned to Ikalgo and asked, “I know a place we could go. I haven’t taken Gon there yet.”

Ikalgo glanced past him to where Gon struggled to shake himself out of the shock of  _holding a guy’s hand_ . The realization that he was even holding someone’s hand struck him as The Best Thing Ever and soon, he was beaming so wide his eyes shut into happy moons. 

“That sounds great!” he said, cheerful as ever, and started off ahead of the group, his hand trailing behind to where Killua gave him a weird look and Ikalgo grimaced in distaste. 

Killua gave Gon’s hand a tug and said, “Wrong way, you idiot—” only to curse.  _Fuck_ , he thought,  _I can’t call him that!_ He could already feel the judgement seeping off of Ikalgo only five paces away from the front door of their apartment complex.

Gon whined, slumping his head against Killua’s shoulder. “Aw, so mean,” he teased, and Killua could have sighed in relief. Teasing. Right, that was what he intended to do, because that was what couples did.

Ikalgo strolled up alongside Gon and said, “So what are you majoring in?” which sparked Ikalgo’s immediate interest in Gon’s music. He had, after all, been there for Gon’s early stages of learning the guitar. 

As they talked and drifted on from Gon’s music, the topic trickled into an old classmate of theirs from Mexico who also picked up the guitar. Before long, Ikalgo was naming all of the people Gon had forgotten but remembered instantly upon hearing their names. 

Killua never felt that level of nostalgia, but it consumed Gon for the entirity of the walk to their destination. Gon listened intently to the stories Ikalgo had—about people from their hometown who had passed away, gotten married, moved abroad or simply away to another city. It was heartbreaking for Gon to hear that their favorite tree had been cut down in fear of it falling over one of Ikalgo’s relatives’ homes. It was equally exciting, however, to hear that they had built an addition off of Ikalgo’s grandparents’ house that included a screened-in porch filled with all of his grandma’s voracious plants.

They walked down streets filled with old brick buildings and referbished warehouses. Amidst the checkered windows and open store fronts, there were a number of people frequenting the coffee shops and the antique stores that were just now opening for the afternoon. The buildings were all a variety of shapes and sizes, pressed up against one another, and on the rare chance that the side of a building showed through, they found murals painted on the exposed brick. 

Considering the number of antique stores in the area, Gon assumed that was their plan. Instead, however, they followed the smell of fresh pastries that traveled with the people passing by. Killua held the door open for Gon, his hand trailing off of Gon’s fingers as they separated. 

Ikalgo followed after Gon into the café. The café was based in a repurposed warehouse consisting of eclectic displays and decorations strung up from the ceiling. The light through the second story windows caught on hanging crystals and decorative stained glass fixtures, which cast rays of rainbow sunlight across the room. 

The fronds of large palm trees draped from pots on the second-story balconies, and Gon caught himself marveling at it all as Killua walked past their stunned faces. Ikalgo was, likewise, in a state of disbelief as he stared up at the ceiling decorations. He turned to look down at Gon, who, likewise, circled back around to face him. 

They shared a quick smile as Gon said, “Pretty.”

“Sí—es hermoso[2],” he said in a way that made Gon feel like Ikalgo had just been looking at him the entire time.

The flutter of the accordion nearly blossomed from Gon’s chest right then and there. The sunlight turned to blush on Ikalgo’s face, and the glitter of the dust particles in the air spun into a bokeh effect like they were in a shōjo manga. Ikalgo’s eyes shined, his dimples dazzling. Gon felt his feet floating out from under him from the way his heart fluttered with the accordion and prepared for take off. 

Before he could harness it and go off on a romantic tangent, Killua came to the rescue. 

“I used to come here all the time last semester,” Killua said, taking Gon by the hand again. Gon pried his eyes away from Ikalgo as he staggered forward, up against Killua’s chest. 

He forgot just how striking Killua’s eyes were, and how flustered they made Gon feel. Eye contact was always a task, but with Killua, he couldn’t look away, not when Killua said, “I don’t know why I haven’t taken you here yet—the greenery reminds me that your favorite color is green.”

Gon swallowed hard. “H-How could you possibly know that?” he whispered, the words whisked under Ikalgo’s radar due to the commotion echoing in the warehouse. 

Killua grinned, and he was back to his usual snarky self. “Because you own so many green basketball shorts.”

Gon groaned with a huff. Sure, green  _was_ his favorite color, but that wasn’t the reason why he had so many green shorts! 

Killua walked off, laughing and trailing Gon behind him, their hands clasped together. “I—! I only own those ‘cause my high school’s colors were green!”

The three of them got in line to order drinks. When it came time to pay, Killua turned to Gon and asked what he wanted. Oblivious, Gon admitted that he was thinking about getting some tea with one of the pastries in the glass case on the countertop. The cashier punched it in and rung it up, and Killua handed his cash over before Gon could get his card out.

“H-Hey! Why are you paying for—” Gon started, and Killua glared at him. “Oh, shit—I mean, thank you. But you didn’t have to.”

“Don’t mention it,” Killua said, and as the two of them went in search of a table, Killua leant closer to whisper, “It’s practically your money anyway.”

Gon blinked, confused. When had he given Killua money?  _Maybe it was for groceries?_ he wondered, but no—Gon was the one who generally picked up things for  _Killua_ , not the other way around.

Gon rose an eyebrow at Killua. Killua rolled his eyes. He let go of Gon’s hand to gesture with both hands the visual of him raining money on unsuspecting onlookers. He started shimmying his shoulders, biting his tongue as he grinned, and the visual hit Gon like a brick to the head. 

Gon yelped and slapped Killua’s hands down. Killua threw his head back and laughed, which only threw Gon off-balance more than he already was. Had he…? Had he ever heard Killua laugh?

_No_ , he realized,  _not really, anyway_ .

Ikalgo joined them then as Killua covered his smile with the back of his hand, only to sober up at the sight of Ikalgo behind them. He cleared his throat and went back to frowning as Gon caught himself holding Killua’s hands down. 

He yanked his hands back and said, voice cracking, “Let’s—! Let’s get a table!” and immediately tripped over someone’s handbag when he attempted a getaway between the tables. 

Gon caught himself with a shriek of terror. Both Ikalgo and Killua had their hands out, not that they could have done much to prevent a concussion. Gon recovered and galloped off before either of them could ask if he was okay.

Ikalgo turned to Killua and asked, “Is he always like this?”

Killua snickered. “Why? Having second thoughts?”

“Of course not,” he said, stern-faced and resolute. 

They ate in the company of a corner full of cat palms and elephant-eared fronds. Gon sat with a sneaker on the edge of his chair seat, the other straight under the table. He sipped his tea with a pleased smile, round cheeks pushing his bright eyes up. Killua glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, wondering who the hell decided it was a good idea to merge the spirit of a golden retriever with Gon Freecss at birth. He slid his eyes over to Ikalgo, who was reclined back in his seat, stuck between glaring at Killua and watching Gon fondly.

After the café, their next pitstop was a block over on the edge of the hill overlooking the Bay. They could see the fog on the water through the open garage door, which was propped above an arrangement of plants for sale. At the crosswalk, Gon had noticed the flower shop and thought,  _Cute!_ and nothing else of it. 

But then they were walking in and Gon’s romantic heart sang.

The store was filled to the brim with decorative plant hangers and tall, potted plants taller than Gon. Between the congested aisles, Ikalgo and Gon inspected an assortment of cacti. Ikalgo pointed to a stout, fat one and said, “Abuelita.”

Gon snorted and pointed to a tall, skinny one with a red flower on the top. “Aunt Mito.”

Ikalgo laughed so hard he snorted, which pitched Gon into a giggling fit. Ikalgo put a hand to Gon’s back, and the instant he did, Killua slipped behind them and tucked his chin against Gon’s shoulder.

Gon sucked in a deep breath and smelled nothing but what  _had_ to be Killua’s shampoo because it wasn’t floral, and it was, quite simply, the exact same smell he found when he once experimentally opened up a foreign shampoo bottle in the shower. 

“Hey, I think we’re good to go,” Killua said.

_Good to go?_ Gon thought, because it sounded like Killua came here with a  _plan_ . “Did you… need to get something?” Gon asked, which felt odd because they didn’t have a single plant in the apartment. 

Killua relaxed next to Gon, his hand discretely swiping Ikalgo’s arm off of Gon’s shoulders as he presented a quaint bouquet of white roses and eucalyptus sprigs. “Just this,” he said. 

Logically, Gon knew what this was. But  _il_ logically, Gon knew it was a checklist of everything Gon had blabbed to Killua about in his bedroom that morning. 

Killua  _listened_ to him.

It made him want to scream and cry with joy at the same time because  _why couldn’t he have an actual boyfriend who did this shit?_ The thought had his throat closing up as he took the bouquet with hesitant fingers.

Heat swelled to his cheeks. He touched the back of his hand to his face, knowing just how red it was as he whispered, “Thank you.” He hated that he meant it because this was the first time anyone other than Aunt Mito or his grandma bought him roses. 

The feeling, however, was obvious. Killua hesitated at the teary look in Gon’s eyes when Gon pretended to study the roses. He licked his lip and thought,  _Fuck, they’re probably his dead grandpa’s favorite flowers or something. Ikalgo’s probably going to_ —

But the flowers were all it took. Ikalgo gave them a few feet of space to respect the moment, and while that was a win, Killua really did  _not_ know what to do with Gon in this state. He barely knew how to handle Gon when he was blubbering about needing a roommate, and now? 

This felt so much worse. 

“Hey, it’s—It’s not that big of a deal,” Killua whispered, and  _shit_ , that didn’t help.

Gon’s lip quivered. He tipped his head against Killua’s shoulder, biting his lip, and held still. Naturally, it was an invitation for a hug, so Killua draped his arms around Gon’s shoulders, the flowers between them, and waited. It took several seconds before Gon pulled away, lowering the flowers to his side.

Killua waited, and kept on waiting as Gon turned back to Ikalgo and suggested they start heading back. 

Ikalgo stuck his hands in his pockets and said, “Oh, no, I can walk myself. I have a meeting with my advisor soon anyway. You two don’t need to rush.”

Gon clasped the flowers against his stomach as he stammered, “O-Oh, okay. Thanks for walking with us this morning.”

A small smile graced Ikalgo’s lips, and Killua interpreted it as melancholy of him. “Of course. I’ll talk to you later,” Ikalgo said. 

As Ikalgo walked off, Killua waited for the moment Gon turned back to him. Instead, Gon merely waited to give Ikalgo a wide birth before making his way down the sidewalk, only half-turning to Killua to say, “We should—I have a lot of homework to finish.”

“Right,” Killua said, because he didn’t know what else to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 **A grandes males, grandes remedios** = Desperate times call for desperate measures  
> [return to text]
> 
> 2 **Sí—es hermoso** = I spent half an hour trying to find a video example of this but it's basically when the gal is actively In The Moment looking off into the distance and she's like "Isn't it beautiful?" and the guy isn't even looking at the scenery he's just staring at her and says, "Yeah, it is."  
> [return to text]


	21. Torn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Bop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TWACe_5KEBo)

**A** s it turned out, Zushi had family just across the bridge in Oakland. Sundays were reserved for family affairs for Zushi, and given that they had a study session the morning of, Zushi turned to Gon and asked if he wanted to join. 

“I used to play the drums, so there’s a set in the garage,” Zushi explained.

“I never learned the drums,” he confessed, but he knew how to play the guitar and even owned an electric guitar and amp, so they packed it into the back of Zushi’s mom’s car and headed to Oakland for the day. 

“Thanks for letting me hang out with you guys today, Mrs. Umi and—um, Miss Umi,” Gon said as joined Zushi in the car. He glanced over at Zushi for approval, and Zushi gave him a thumbs up. Two moms made it difficult to tell them apart, and Gon’s upbringing prevented him from using a strictly first-name basis with his friends’ parents.

“You’re always welcome,” Miss Umi said from the passenger’s seat. She beamed at Gon before her wife put the car into drive and, still halted on the side of the road, pointed a finger at them through the rear view mirror and said, “This car isn’t movin’ ‘till both of you buckle up.”

Zushi groaned and said, “Yeesh, Mama…”

Gon looped the buckle across his chest and clicked it in, saying, “Safety  _first_ .”

The SUV traveled over the Bay Bridge with Alcatraz off in the distance among the waves and the tourist boats traveling to and from the Golden Gate. It was a relatively clear day, which brought color to the sky for once—a crystal blue that shined with the sun on the surface of the Bay. Gon looked to Zushi, who beamed back at him as the two of them watched the Oakland shore sweep beneath them.

It was the perfect day for Gon to escape everything—the apartment… Ikalgo… Killua…

_Hold on_ , Gon thought, a hand to his head.  _When did Killua get in there? Nope, not thinking about it. Definitely_ not _thinking about it_ .

“What’re you thinking about?” Zushi said, head tipped to the side. “Ya look kinda constipated there.”

Gon snorted, scoffed, and said, “I am  _not_ thinking.”

“For some reason I thought you were gonna keep going. Not thinking… about…?”

“Who needs to think when it’s Sunday and I finished all my homework yesterday?” Gon said with a nervous laugh, but it was true. After getting back from the walk with Ikalgo, Gon holed himself up in his room, finished his homework, and spent the rest of the afternoon and evening watching Netflix.

Which was  _precisely_ why Killua woke up that morning and simply thought that Gon was still in his room when, in fact, Gon was long gone and already in Oakland plugging in his amp to an outlet in Zushi’s parents’ garage.

Killua rubbed at his bedhead and checked the time on the stove. It was already noon and, after a total of seven hours of sleep, he was ready to collapse again. He couldn’t deny, however, that his mind kept reeling back to buying the flower bouquet. Clearly, he crossed a line, and now he couldn’t help but concern himself with it. The guilt was eating him alive.

So Killua went to Gon’s bedroom door and, after hesitating, and then getting down on the ground to try and peek under the door for activity, decided to knock.

No answer.

_Well, since I knocked once I might as well knock again_ , he thought, and so he did. He knocked several more times before determining that Gon was either furious with him, or not in the apartment. 

He reached for the handle.

His eyes went back to the refrigerator, where the roommate agreement used to be. It was still in the drawer Gon left it in when Ikalgo came through. Killua sighed and went to pin it back up, thinking to himself about how, at the very least,  _he_ needed to maintain the rules if Gon was going to go breaking them.

He stuck the magnets on the top corners of the sheet. He busied himself with breakfast, but his attention kept sliding over to Gon’s room. Worry oozed out of every pore of his body. He felt congested with it, his chest tight. 

As he sat at the kitchen table, facing their rooms, Killua slumped to the side with a groan of resentment for himself. Why did he have to get  _flowers?_ Sure, Gon said he always wanted flowers, but something wasn’t right about this time.

He pushed to his feet and hurried to Gon’s door. There, he turned the handle, his eyes flitting back to the foyer. His luck dictated that Gon would walk in at that very moment, but he didn’t, and so Killua proceeded.

The door creaked on its hinges when Killua pulled it open. He peered in, saying, “Gon? You there?” but there was no answer. 

The lights were off, but the window illuminated the ruffled sheets and the empty space on the bed where Gon had slept the night before. There were clothes on the ground, in little bundles—like Gon shimmed out of his clothes all in one step and left them where they fell each day. Melvin 2.0 was on display in the corner of the room, and an empty guitar stand sat next to it in the shadows.

Killua sighed.  _So he isn’t here_ , he determined, and went to close the door. His eyes caught on Gon’s desk, though, where the culprit sat, still wrapped, on the wood. 

The white roses.

_The idiot didn’t even put them in a vase_ , Killua thought, slapping his hand to his side. He went into the room and snatched them off of the desk, only to hesitate.

If he put them in a vase now, Gon would know that he was in here, right?

The roses were already wilting, though, to Killua started taking off the plastic wrapping and brought it into the kitchen where he dug around their kitchen supplies for something similar to a vase. 

The closest thing he could find was a mason jar, so he filled it with water. The height of the flowers sent the mason jar wobbling, so he clipped the stems before slipping them into the mason jar. He arranged the eucalyptus  _just so…_ and there. It was perfect. 

He went back to Gon’s room with the mason jar of flowers. The rose petals were limp, but by the end of the day, they would be firm and soft again where Killua left them on Gon’s desk. After shutting Gon’s door, he went back to his breakfast, and decided to ignore whatever lingering concerns he had about Gon.

Meanwhile, in Oakland, Mrs. and Miss Umi were on the couch in their garage eating crackers and hummus while Gon and Zushi serenaded them via classic 2000s music.

“ _You’ll say… the world’s come between us… Our lives have come between us—Still I know you just don’t care_ , _”_ Gon sang into the nonexistent microphone stand, which was just a t-ball stand propped up on a box. His eyes dropped to the strings on his guitar, strumming faster as the chorus approached fast to merge with the succession of Zushi’s percussion crashing into a smooth beat.

Gon slammed his foot down, belting out, “ _And I said! ‘What about! Breakfast at Tiffany’s!’ And she said—‘I think I—remember the film and—as I recall, I think we both kinda liked it!_ ’

“‘ _And I said, ‘Well that’s—ONE THING WE’VE GOT!_ ’”

He spun, shimmying his shoulders with every swift downstroke on the guitar. In doing so, though, he was wound up in the cord attached to his guitar—curses, those damn electric guitars, and he would have tumbled and tripped straight over it as Zushi’s moms not shouted in terror.

He reversed the spin and stepped out of the snare of cords, giggling and looking back at Zushi, who stilled a hand over the cymbals and said, “I see why you stick to acoustics now.”

“I’m antsy! I can’t help it,” Gon said, kicking the cord. “And also, it’s kinda hard to be  _quiet_ with an  _electric guitar_ around the apartment.”

“It’s not like you’ve got  _roommates_ ,” Zushi said. “You wouldn’t be bothering anyone.”

“Yeah, except my  _neighbors_ ,” Gon muttered with a huff, pouting down at his guitar.

“I hear you’ve practically  _got_ yourself a roommate,” Miss Umi teased from the couch, and Mrs. Umi nudged her in the arm, hiding a laugh behind her hand. 

It took a second for Gon to catch on. His cheeks flushed red, reminded of how Zushi and Knuckle witnessed Killua leaving the apartment. He turned, eyes wide, to look at Zushi, who blushed, caught snitching. 

“Y-You told your parents about me and—!” Gon squeaked.

Zushi yelped. “I-I tell them everything! They know all about Killua!”

Both of his parents nodded resolutely because  _yes_ , it was true they knew everything about Killua that Zushi knew. Miss Umi pulled her phone out to show Gon, “See? I follow that sweet journalist—Retz, right?”

“Right!” Zushi chimed, tapping his drumsticks together. He stopped when Gon turned to frown at him. Zushi winced, grimaced, and said, “Sorry…”

“It’s okay,” Gon sighed.

Zushi perked up. “Oh! But you said there was more to the story. I’m still waiting on that, mister.”

“And so are we,” his mom said, and Gon whithered. Parental disappointment was the bane of his existence, and there he was, disappointing Zushi’s mothers with all of his lies. 

Curse his admiration for mother figures. 

He groaned and stomped his foot. He plucked a few sad notes out on his guitar and wavered the brassy string on his fretboard. Once that was punctuated, he slapped his hand onto his lap and whined, “ _Fine_ , I guess I can tell you.”

Zushi thrust his fists in the air. “Yes! Finally!”

Gon opened his stupid mouth and all that came out was a squeak and a gasp of defeat. He slumped with a groan. “I can’t do it.”

Zushi groaned, slapping his drumsticks down with a crash on the canvas. Gon winced, hugging the body of his guitar as Zushi jabbed a drumstick in his direction—a silent and very real threat.

“I’m just—! With Ikalgo showing up, everything’s just… become more complicated,” Gon confessed, and, for whatever reason, the next thing to come to mind flew out of his mouth without warning. “And I just found out that my  _dad_ exists and lives in San Fran so…”

He blinked, startled that he even mentioned it. As far as he knew, he had completely dismissed Killua’s comment about Ging Freecss. Ging hadn’t come to mind until that very moment his unofficial title as Gon’s father blurted out.

“Wait—What do you mean by that?” Zushi asked, eyes wide. “Do you think—You don’t think they’re  _connected_ somehow, do you?”

“Wh-What do you mean by  _that?!_ ” Gon squeaked, horrified. “We aren’t  _related!_ ”

Zushi rolled his eyes, pushing up from his stool. He rounded the drum set to say, “No, I mean—does Ikalgo  _know your dad?_ And how come you didn’t know he existed?”

Gon blushed, glancing at Zushi’s mothers. They looked at one another until Miss Umi pointed to Zushi and said, “It’s not like he’s  _adopted_ . Not that there’s anything wrong with being adopted—!”

Zushi slapped a hand over his face as Gon squeaked, “I—! I mean, I am adopted, but by my aunt! I never met my dad before.”

“And you met him just recently?” she asked. 

“N-No! But Killua met him the other night,” Gon explained, glancing back at Zushi, who’s eyes narrowed, hands on his hips. Gon’s blush engulfed his entire being. “Wh-Why are you looking at me like that? They didn’t meet  _intentionally_ . But they had dinner together and—”

“He gets to meet your dad, has a key to your apartment, and you’re telling me there’s  _more to the story_ ?” Zushi said, an eyebrow quirked up. “ _Clearly_ he’s your boyfriend.”

“He isn’t—!” Gon started, exasperated. He halted, however, at the look of damnation on Zushi’s face, and the way Zushi’s mothers gasped at the sheer drama of it. It was too late—he already confessed. “He doesn’t want anyone to know that—”  _I’m going to hell aren’t I?_ he thought. “Pretending to…  _date_ wasn’t exactly the  _plan_ but it  _worked_ .”

“You’re…  _pretending to date?_ ” Zushi cried, alarmed. “H-How? What? Why, when, where, bitch? You only just met him this semester!”

“Ugh, I know. It’s a mess!” Gon cried. He lowered his guitar down so the strap straightened from around his neck. He strummed a simple, bright chord as Zushi scratched at his hair, stubborn and annoyed.

“Okay, then give me a hint then,” Zushi said. 

Gon slapped his hands over the strings to mute them. He glanced back at Zushi with a raised eyebrow and said, “Like what?”

“Like… a song that resembles the situation?”

Gon thought about it for a moment. It made perfect sense, and he already had the melody on his fingertips. He looked down at the body of his electric guitar and started to strum the basic rhythm of a song his aunt used to play in the car during middle school shopping season, just before the semester started. It made him feel… the dread he felt now, faced with something inevitable like another year he didn’t ask for to be spent in school.

Only now he was faced with another year with a roommate he didn’t ask for, a childhood best friend come back from the dead, and his friends asking him “ _What the fuck?_ ”

[G](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TWACe_5KEBo)on sucked in a deep breath before breathing out the lyrics,

> “‘ _I thought I saw a man brought to life…_
> 
> _He was warm—he came around like he was dignified—_
> 
> _He showed me what it was to cry…!_
> 
> _Well he couldn’t be that man I adored—!_
> 
> _Doesn’t seem to know, doesn’t seem to care_
> 
> _What his heart is for!_
> 
> _No I don’t know him anymore!_ ’”

Gon jumped with both feet into the chorus, and by the time he crash-landed on the concrete, Zushi was already back at his drums slamming into the beat. Gon all but yelled into the tee-ball microphone stand, singing, “‘ _THERE’S NOTHING WHERE! WE USED TO LIE!_ ’”

Since the Umi’s garage door was open, he could see across the street that a couple walking there dog had paused to watch from a distance, and the fact that one of their neighbors was now sitting on their front stoop smoking a cigarette while listening to Gon and Zushi relive their grade school days via a Natalie Imbruglia rock cover.

“‘ _Illusion never changed into something real—I’m wide awake and I can see the per-fect sky is torn! You’re a little late—I’m already torn!_ ’”

If all of San Francisco ceased motion and the ocean fell into silence, Killua still would not have heard Gon and Zushi’s garage session through the sound of Gon’s goddamn accordion jam sesh in his headphones. 

He didn’t work that night and could now be found tucked away in an alcove within the campus library. He sat in the fading sunlight with his feet kicked up on the window ledge and his headphones streaming the slow, ambient tempo of his recording with Gon. Gon’s wild recording session had mellowed out over the several takes they made, which made it easier for Killua to pick apart a descent, consistent tempo to match with sound bites he already had on hand.

As he edited, he couldn’t deny the crystal-clear visual he had in his head from the studio. Splicing together clips from the file simply cut and pasted images of Gon perched atop the stool, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. His cheeks puffed out from the way he pursed his lips in frustration, eye twitching, when Killua told him to do it all over again.

But the dedication to do it again and do it  _better_ cast a bright, explosive expression across Gon’s face when Killua told him to move on to the verse. And, when their last full take was made, the way exhaustion swept over Gon could never trump the sweet, sugary taste of victory in Gon’s voice when he said, “ _Did it really sound okay? I’m so glad you liked it!_ ”

It took several vacant seconds before Killua realized that he had stopped working entirely and let the song go on in his headphones while he spaced out in the middle of the library. His brain was waterlogged with thoughts of Gon Freecss’ dumb face.

Killua paused the track.

He stared out the window for five and a half seconds before coming to a dreadful conclusion: He only ever did that when he was seventeen, naïve, and listening to a playlist Kurapika had made specifically for him.

“Fuck,” Killua said to nothing in particular.

_No_ , he told himself, shaking his head. He wouldn’t give into this. It was just a fleeting moment of weakness. He wasn’t  _actually_ crushing on that idiot, was he?

The only way to test this theory was to psychoanalyze his time in the club from a new lens. It was easy for Killua to decide who he was and wasn’t attracted to in the club—it was work, dammit, and he preferred getting cozy with someone who made his heart skip, just a little. He skimmed over the faces of nameless women from bachelorette parties to men who frequented the bar, any instance where he would have gravitated towards that person in an instant.

His heart skipped when he reimagined the rave, the night Gon stared up at him with childlike awe. 

Killua slapped his hands over his face.  _Fuck_ , he thought,  _why did my heart skip just then?_

They were roommates, dammit! His heart wasn’t supposed to skip!

“Fuck it,” he told himself, slapping his laptop closed. He decided that this feeling would disappear by sundown.

But then when he opened his backpack to fetch the packed dinner he stowed away, he held up a plastic container with his name on one of Gon’s stupid post-it notes. It was from the selection of extra food Gon had made earlier in the week and left in the fridge for Killua, and his name was written like Gon was intentionally trying to harness the legibility of a doctor’s handwriting. 

And then he sat in the library while eating the food Gon prepared. 

He pouted, cheeks puffed out and full of rice and chicken. “ _Fuck_ ,” he seethed through the food, embarrassed and furious with himself. He’d be  _damned_ if he let Gon find out that he was caving.

But boy howdy, Natalie Imbruglia certainly had one thing to contribute to Killua’s mess, and that was a dreadful realization Gon had after getting the song off his chest, and it came in the form of the bouquet Killua gave him. 

The realization? That he wouldn’t be getting a real bouquet from anyone anytime soon— _especially_ Killua Zoldyck. This realization pushed against everything Gon had told himself when it came to his roommate: That Killua was unattainable and therefore deemed ugly, ratchet, and mean. But that just wasn’t true. Killua was cold and coarse, sure, but he clearly had the potential to be so much more than that, and Gon saw it in little snippets from Kurapika. Kurapika wouldn’t befriend a total asshole, would he?

And Killua  _was_ attractive. Deceiving himself of that under the pretense of unattainability made him dread the truth. The fact of the matter was that Gon Freecss would never have a chance with Killua, and the illusion of their fake relationship would never become something real.

Gon would never have a boyfriend who would get him flowers as long as he kept up this ruse with Killua.

Gon sighed wistfully at the dinner table as Zushi took away his empty plate. His phone buzzed in his pocket and, since dinner was over and Zushi’s parents had left the room, he took it out to find an unfamiliar number in his notifications.

The text was in Spanish.

“Aye yai yai,” Gon moaned, a hand over his face.

“What is it?” Zushi asked.

“It’s  _Ikalgo_ . He wants me to meet him on campus tonight,” he said, sighing again. He slumped over the table, his cheek resting on his extended arm. He felt bad leading Ikalgo on, and deep down, he knew that Ikalgo would buy him flowers if he was in the position to do so. If they were dating.

Gon sighed again.

“Are you… gonna talk to him?” Zushi said in a judgemental voice that told Gon that Zushi was far from thrilled about Ikalgo. 

“I mean, if your moms drop you off at the dorms, I’ll just hop out there too?” Gon said because  _yes_ , convenience was the only excuse he could think of for seeing Ikalgo.

Zushi sighed and begrudgingly agreed to it. After all, if Gon pursued Ikalgo, that freed up Killua, and Gon was certain that this was the train of thought Zushi was on. It was also why, when Miss Umi dropped them off, Zushi wished Gon luck and followed up with a cheeky wink. 

“Go get ‘em, sport!” Zushi teased with a little skip and a kissy face.

Gon stuck his tongue out at Zushi and said, “Gross! Get otta here with that!” Zushi giggled when Gon chased after him and kicked his foot out at Zushi’s ass. He missed by a solid foot, though.

Zushi vaulted up the steps of his dorm and said, “Text me how it goes!”

“I’m sure I won’t!” Gon said.

“You will!”

Gon huffed as he turned away and started on the trek through the quiet campus streets. The sidewalks were illuminated by tungsten streetlamps and the headlights of passing cars as Gon made his way to the track arena where Ikalgo was getting off practice.

Gon had never been to the arena, and he lingered outside of the front gate for a time before deciding to ask where Ikalgo was. He dragged his shoe along the bottom ledge of the iron fence until his phone buzzed to let him know that Ikalgo was just finishing up in the locker room. 

“Ugh, I can’t just sit here,” Gon groaned, anxious butterflies tingling up his spine. He hopped around in circles before making a break for the arena doors and hunting down the locker room. 

With his handheld amp secured firmly in his hand and his guitar strapped to his back, he wandered along vacant corridors and followed the sound of students nearby. He followed the signs that led down a ramp into the basement of the complex, where the locker rooms were. He checked the sign above—men’s—and puffed out his cheeks. 

“Now I remember why I hated sports,” Gon thought aloud in a grumble. He hated locker rooms with a passion—but that wouldn’t stop him! He wouldn’t be intimidated by locker rooms! Nothing intimidated him! 

So Gon braced himself and went to march inside as a group of guys exited the archway, chatting amongst themselves. Gon skidded to a halt, waiting to be caught, but the guys went on their way down the hall, completely oblivious to Gon’s attempted entry. 

He let out a breath of relief, only to startle with a furious groan. “I’ve got nothing to hide! I’m a dude! I’m a man!” he said, puffing his chest out, hand on his hip. He kicked a foot out at the locker room archway and followed up with a punch and a parry, like he was about to duke it out.

He lurched inside in one big leap. Feet braced firmly on the tiles, Gon sidled his way down the hallway, around the corner, and slid sneakily into the expanse of metal lockers sectioned off in U-shaped cubbies and benches. 

A student athlete walked by him, duffle thrown over his shoulder, and pointed to Gon’s guitar. “Dude, nice. I’ve always wanted to learn.”

“Th-Thanks! Me too!” Gon squeaked. The guy laughed and went about his day while Gon put a hand to his face and whispered, horrified, “I already know how to play…”

Since the locker room was comprised of nothing but metal and concrete, his voice carried and a second later, Gon turned to look down a section of lockers and already found Ikalgo staring at him wearing nothing but his boxers. 

“ ▢ \-  ▢▢▢▢ !” Ikalgo cried, voice cracking. He cursed, yanking his shower towel around him as several of his teammates startled at the  _obviously feminine name_ . 

Gon blinked, startled. He blushed, glancing at Ikalgo’s teammates in that same section of the lockers. There were only two of them, and they were looking at each other. They both shrugged and went about their post-practice evening.

Ikalgo, on the other hand, was as red as a tomato. 

“Fuck—I mean— _Gon_ , what are you, um,  _doing here?_ ” he said, gripping the towel around his abdomen, like he had something to hide. Gon tipped his head to the side, inadvertently squinting at Ikalgo’s abs.

He pointed to them and said, “I realize being a pole vaulter means having a strong core, but I gotta say—I haven’t seen many six packs in real life.”

The comment spurred a snort from his two teammates. Ikalgo glared at them as they passed him, shutting their lockers behind them. Gon smiled at them, but internally, he was screaming and twitching like crazy. 

When they were gone, Ikalgo said, sterner this time, “What are you  _doing in here?_ Couldn’t you have waited outside?”

“I’m impatient,” Gon said with a shrug. 

“Yeah, but you can’t—” Ikalgo started, only to halt when Gon rose an eyebrow at him. Ikalgo cursed under his breath and sighed, “Perdón no quise decir eso[1]. Habit.”

Gon swallowed hard. He glanced down the lane of lockers and back again, heart pounding in his chest. He never understood genuine apologies because he rarely had to deal with them. Offhanded apologies were one thing—“ _Oh, sorry for bumping into you,_ ” “ _Oh, sorry I didn’t mean to skip you,_ ” or “ _Oh, sorry, no you go. I didn’t mean to talk over you_ .” But hearing Ikalgo apologize in their native language spoke to his heart in ways he couldn’t comprehend. It felt more authentic than the english alternative, and it made Gon melt.

“I-It’s fine. I get it,” Gon said. “You know, I heard seven days breaks a habit.”

Ikalgo sighed. “Yeah. Guess we haven’t hung out much this past week.”

Gon smiled, and the tension faded in Ikalgo’s shoulders. He was still holding the towel tightly, though, and after a second, Ikalgo asked if Gon would turn around so he could put some  _actual_ pants on. “O-Oh! Yeah, sure,” Gon yelped, spinning around. He almost took a guy out with his amp, though. He hugged it to his chest as he counted the seconds it took for Ikalgo to dress. 

He licked his lips and glanced at all the awards posted on the cement wall in front of him. “So… what did you want to talk about?” Gon asked.

Ikalgo shut his locker and, just as Gon was about to turn around, Ikalgo came up next to him with his gym bag looped over one shoulder. “Maybe we should… talk about this outside?” he suggested.

Gon nodded, speechless. He hurried after Ikalgo, keeping pace with him as they walked down the stretch of lockers. Gon hooked his thumb under the strap of his guitar case, fiddling with it nervously as they emerged into the hallway. Ikalgo led the way out of the arena, but as they went, he glanced at Gon and Gon glanced at him, and Gon decided to offer an encouraging smile.

“Well, we’re outside now,” Gon said, only to shake his head. “No, wait, we’re still inside. But we’re outside of the locker room so I think that counts?”

Ikalgo laughed, scratching at his damp hair. “Yeah, um, _mierda_ [2] . This hurts to say. Do you mind if I–?” 

Gon nodded, knowing instantly what he meant.

With a deep breath, Ikalgo said, “Después de lo que ocurrió ayer, me di cuenta que- mierda, me importas tanto que, me di cuenta que sólo quiero que seas feliz. Parece que Killua te da eso que necesitas, y no quiero molestaste interfiriendo. No es justo, así que me gustaría que solo fuéramos… amigos?[3]”

Gon paused outside of the arena doors, feeling the strap of his guitar suffocating him. He swallowed hard, heart fluttering up to his constricted throat.

_I can’t believe I just friendzoned myself_ , Gon thought.

When he didn’t say anything, Ikalgo sighed, looking down at his feet. “And you were right,” he said, his accent doing funny things to Gon’s heartstrings. “We  _don’t_ really know each other anymore. Being friends might help with that. I want to get to know you, and I’m ok empezar de cero—”[4]

Gon nearly dropped his amp in his haste. He reached an arm up to hug Ikalgo around the shoulders.

As he did, Killua was just leaving the library in hopes of getting eight hours of sleep before class the next morning. Killua was in the middle of getting out his bus pass when he paused and recognized the distant sound of Ikalgo’s voice. It was unmistakable, and as he searched for it, he found the shadow made by Ikalgo and Gon stretch across the concrete, splitting as Gon pulled away from the hug.

Killua’s heart stopped. 

Gon smiled up at Ikalgo and said something incomprehensible from Killua’s distance. Ikalgo nodded. Killua nearly dropped his bus pass. It felt like splinters digging into his palm as he watched Gon kiss Ikalgo’s cheek, lingering longer than some platonic la bise.

When Gon moved to walk away, Killua kicked back into gear again. He turned and hurried out of site, taking the long way around the arena to his bus stop so he could avoid crossing paths with Gon. However, they seemed to have the same idea. 

Stupidly, Killua had assumed Gon came with his car.

When he arrived at the bus stop, Gon was already there, hugging his handheld amp to his chest, swaying to and fro. Killua slowed several paces away. Gon hadn’t noticed him yet, and he wondered if he could walk to their apartment from here to avoid taking the bus with Gon. The childish part of him wanted to—as if Gon would ever know that Killua picked walking over sitting on the bus with him.

Clearly, though, Gon wasn’t going to sit around and wait for Killua to make his feelings known. As unprepared as he was to confess what he was feeling, and however new those feelings were, they were  _real_ . And they were  _hurt_ from seeing Gon kiss Ikalgo’s cheek. 

Gon glanced down the sidewalk and caught Killua staring. 

Gon startled with a gasp, saying, “K-Killua! What’re you doing here?” and Killua wondered if Gon’s brain flew right back to his kiss on Ikalgo’s cheek like Killua’s brain had.

“I was working on homework,” Killua said. He wandered up beside Gon and said, “You didn’t bring your car?”

Gon shook his head. “Nah, I was hanging out with Zushi’s family today. You know he’s got two moms? Two of them! That’s so cool.”

“Lesbians exist, you know,” Killua deadpanned, and Gon laughed like lesbianism was Such A Concept.

They fell quiet as they watched the bus turn the corner onto their street, the number glowing above the windshield. Gon pulled up his ticket on his phone and was the first to step into the bus when it arrived. He walked to the back of the mostly-empty bus. Killua took the seat beside him. 

After a few moments of silence, Killua said, “So what’s with you and Ikalgo?”

Gon let out a choked, squeaky sound. He tried to laugh it off, waving his hand as he said, “N-Nothing! We’re just friends.”

Killua rolled his eyes. “Yeah, ‘cause friends kiss each other on the cheek.”

This time, Gon did choke. He coughed into his elbow, red in the face, and rasped, “Th-That was—! It’s—”

“Complicated?” Killua said, raising an eyebrow. He glanced at Gon, who bit his lip and slumped in his seat, his guitar case hugged to his chest. “Why are you interested in him?”

“Because I just—” Gon started, breathless. He let out a gasping sigh and pouted, looking out the window. “I just want to be in a  _real_ relationship. I’m sick of being alone. But I don’t think Ikalgo’s ready for a relationship with  _me_ . Like, who I am  _now_ . So I might just wait until he’s ready. I don’t know yet.”

“I think he’s your last resort,” Killua said, and when Gon looked at him, startled, their eyes met. “You shouldn’t be waiting around for a default.”

“ _Default?_ ” Gon cried, indignant. He scoffed and said, “I’ll have you know, I saw his abs today and Holy Mother Theresa that is  _not_ the default—”

“Abs? Really?” Killua said, and when Gon floundered for some other compliment to give Ikalgo, Killua scoffed and added, “There’s a  _perfectly_ good six pack sitting  _right here_ .”

Gon laughed nervously, high-pitched and embarrassed. “D-Don’t be ridiculous!” he cried, waving a dismissive hand. “I’m—You’re —The plan…”

Killua turned fully to him and Gon’s voice trailed off into a pained whimper, eyes wider than the moon. “Do you or do you not want a real boyfriend?”

_Please tell me I’m dreaming_ , Gon thought, swallowing hard. 

And then, Killua reached towards him. Gon tensed up, panic in full swing, only to relax when Killua simply pulled the string for the bus to stop. He breathed a sigh of relief—until the exact moment Killua braced a hand on the bus window, his face directly in front of Gon’s.

“Let me know,” he said, and pushed off of the window, to his feet, and walked to the front of the bus as if he  _hadn’t_ just given Gon the ultimatium of the century.

Gon lurched into motion the instant the bus stopped moving. He scrambled after Killua, his arms full from the guitar and the amp. He all but tripped out of the bus and onto the sidewalk kitty-corner from their apartment. Killua was standing there, waiting for him to get off the damn bus, and Gon nearly rammed straight into him. He skidded, stopped, his eyes locked on Killua’s. 

Gon bolted in the direction of their apartment, not even bothering to look twice when he crossed the road. 

Killua watched, squinting at the way Gon juggled his equipment and keys. He tipped his head to the side as he watched Gon scramble through the doors and race out of view, up the stairs. He rubbed at his hair and thought to himself,  _Maybe that wasn’t the best tactic…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 **Perdón no quise decir eso** = Sorry, I didn't mean to say that/call you that.  
> [return to text]
> 
> 2 **Mierda** = FUCK. (but Sars wants the accurate translation, which is "shit" but HE SAYS IT WITH THE ENERGY OF A CASUAL "FUCK")  
> [return to text]
> 
> 3 **Después de lo que ocurrió ayer, me di cuenta que- mierda, me importas tanto que, me di cuenta que sólo quiero que seas feliz. Parece que Killua te da eso que necesitas, y no quiero molestaste interfiriendo. No es justo, así que me gustaría que solo fuéramos...amigos.** = After… yesterday I realized that—Fuck, I just care about you so much and I realized that I just want you to be happy. And Killua seems to do that for you and I don’t want to upset you by interfering. That just isn’t fair, so I’m hoping that we can just… be friends?  
> [return to text]
> 
> 4 **empezar de cero** = Starting from scratch  
> [return to text]


	22. Smooth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Bop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Whgn_iE5uc&list=PLyjgHc47unfT3BIZo5uEt2a-2TWKy54sU&index=14) ;)

**T** wo days went by before Killua realized that Gon was intentionally avoiding him. At first he assumed Gon was sleeping in—the guy  _did_ have a car, anyway, so he could afford to take his time without fear of missing his bus—but then he came home from his second shift at the Phantom and caught the tail end of Gon escaping into his bedroom for the night. 

Killua hesitated, half-inside the apartment, half-out. Clearly, Gon had heard his key turn and in the five seconds it took Killua to get inside, Gon had scooped up all of his class work into his arms and made a run for his bedroom.

_It’s fine_ , Killua told himself as he shut the door.  _In the end it was better that I got it off my chest—I just wish I would have let him know that I wasn’t a creep. Not that… I should have to reiterate that…_

He shook his head as he slipped off his shoes. He locked the door behind him and tossed his duffle near the laundry door. He felt greasy and crusty from work and shut himself up in the bathroom for a thorough fifteen minute shower. It was his usual timing, something that Gon knew all too well. It gave him approximately fifteen minutes to pack up the food he prepped that evening and stuff it into the refrigerator.

He wasn’t fast enough.

Killua emerged from the bathroom before Gon could escape. Gon turned like a deer caught in headlights, but instead of headlights, he was caught in the angelic glow of Killua, freshly cleaned and sporting nothing but a black towel and his used clothes clutched to his stomach. 

They both stared at one another until Killua did a habitual thing: He gestured to himself and said, “Like what ya see?” like he was in the locker room with Kurapika.

Gon went bright red. Killua had never seen someone’s skintone snap like that before.

Gon nearly dropped the container in his hands on his way to the fridge, holding it up as he said, “TH-THIS IS FOR YOU!” before shoving it onto Killua’s shelf and making a break for his bedroom, eyes on the ground.

Gon gasped in relief as he slumped against his closed bedroom door. His heart was in rapid motion the past two days, and the momentum with which it took off Sunday night sent it blasting off into space. And if Gon knew anything about the laws of physics, it was that his heart would keep going, spiraling through space and time, until it was caught in the orbit of something far greater than itself.

Or until it smacked straight into an oncoming object. That too.

There was only one person he could talk to about this, so he made plans with them that very next day. There, amongst the chaos of tourists and carnival games, Gon confided in Kurapika.

“I don’t know how much longer I can survive this!” Gon whined, full of dread and sinking against the floorboards of Fisherman’s Wharf. He had a funnelcake in hand and his fist raised to the clouds, crying, “Curse you, Aphrodite!”

“Yeah,  _fuck_ Aphrodite. Making two men fall in love with this bastard,” Kurapika said, putting a middle finger to the Bay. He drank from his reusable coke bottle that was now tinged with Malibu on a Tuesday evening. He propped a hand behind him, crossing his legs at the ankles as he studied Gon’s profile. Gon pouted, scowling out at the sea lions. There weren’t as many out and about that early in the season, but those that populated the docks were barking and sunning themselves in what minimal light broke through the clouds.

It smelled like salt, sewage, and cotton candy, but at least the funnelcakes were oh-so delicious and powdery in Gon’s mouth. He popped a piece in his mouth and sighed. “He has to be kidding, right? I mean, we’re roommates and I’m…  _me_ . I’m not—I’m not…”

“I swear to God, if you say you aren’t good enough,” Kurapika threatened with a scowl that caused Gon to pause, eyes settling on Kurapika. Kurapika rolled his eyes. “I’ve never known Killua to  _fake_ liking a person. Except at work. But work’s different.”

“Has he… ever had a boyfriend before?” Gon asked, realizing that he never thought to ask. There were those times Killua said he had a date, but by now Gon had dissected them enough to know that it was a lie to cover up the fact that he was off to the club to spin upside-down on a pole for cash.

Kurapika thought about it for a moment. He opened his mouth, and Gon’s eyes widened, only to sober when Kurapika snapped his mouth shut again, deep in thought. 

He opened his mouth again, hand raising. Gon straightened. Kurapika dropped his hand and shook his head with a sigh, scratching at his chin. 

“I’ll take that as a no,” Gon said, dully. Something about this realization hit him as disappointing rather than surprised. He blamed it on his desire to have someone else take the reins and know what to do. 

He stopped that train of thought  _right there_ because why the  _hell_ was he actually considering this?!

“Yeah, honestly… I don’t think Killua’s dated  _anyone_ now that I think about it. He’s never mentioned having a partner, even in high school,” Kurapika confessed. “You know he used to tell me that he was exclusively attracted to Ruby Rose?”

Gon burst out laughing. “You’re kidding! That’s amazing—I hope he had, like, a pinup of her or something.”

Kurapika shook his head, laughing. Gon lamented this knowledge with a groan. “And what’s this I hear about that Mexican bastard? Not you, the other one.”

Gon giggled again, blushing. “His name’s  _Ikalgo_ and he’s a friend of mine from elementary school. He’s here on a scholarship for pole vaulting.”

“Wow, two men who work the pole—all in the palm of your hands—”

“K-Kurapika!” Gon gasped between fits of laughter. He kicked his feet out at the water, cackling. “W-We’re just friends now! But he really likes me and I really like him, I just think there’s gonna be a huge adjustment period. He’s spent the past  _decade_ thinking I’m… a girl. And calling me by my deadname.”

“Oh.” A moment of silence after Gon whispered, “Yeah…” It wasn’t awkward silence, however, and Kurapika broke it with a startled, “Oh! You’re—!”

Gon jumped, alarmed. “You mean you didn’t—?”

“No!” Kurapika cried, slapping a hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry, I never—”

“Th-That’s okay! That’s the point!” Gon cried, alarmed. Truthfully, he was flattered that Kurapika never knew. In a perfect world, everyone would just assume he was a guy. “A-And it’s  _different_ with you guys. You never got to know me before I started T or changed my name. It took my Aunt actual  _months_ to stop calling me by my old name. I mean, she  _named me_ . She was attached to it. And… I got into trouble a lot in high school and she used to curse at me with my full name and now—”

“I get it, I get it,” Kurapika said, waving his hand. He smiled and said, “In that case, I’m glad you got to introduce me to the  _real_ you. My vision is  _unclouded_ .”

“Yeah… So…”

“It is an issue, though,” Kurapika reiterated, and Gon slumped. He loathed to hear the words he was thinking spoken out loud. “ _But_ the only reason I’m not opposed to this Ikalgo business is because I once changed Killua’s name in my phone.”

Kurapika took a sip of his drink, which prompted Gon to say, “… And?”

“I spent a week wondering who the hell ‘Thicc Booty’ was in my notifications. Every damn time he texted me it took me five seconds to realize who it was. He doesn’t even  _have_ a thick booty! It’s firm but it’s flat, you know what I’m saying?”

“I—! I haven’t looked at it!” Gon cried in a way that suggested he had, in fact, looked at it. He put his hands to his face and realized the truth. “Oh, shit, I  _have_ looked at it,” he said, thinking of the rave where he spent the entire night staring at Killua on the stage.

“But I  _also_ know that Killua would call us transphobe apologists.”

“That’s… a bit extreme? I don’t  _think_ Ikalgo’s a transphobe.”

“I know. But since he’s evidently into you, he’s probably just pissed that you’re thinking about dating this Ikalgo guy.”

Gon pulled his knees up from over the ledge of the dock. He blushed down at his funnelcake and said, “I’ve never—I don’t think I’ve ever had someone act like that because of me. I don’t think Killua would call us transphobe apologists for the sake of… discrediting Ikalgo.”

“Only one way to find out,” Kurapika said. 

Gon shuddered with discomfort. He couldn’t imagine talking to Killua about Ikalgo now. They had talked about Ikalgo before, but that was…  _before_ . Before Killua offered up his abs and his heart on a downtown San Francisco public bus. Gon’s breath hitched at the memory of Killua’s hand on the window, leant over Gon. 

Of Killua kissing Gon, inadvertently, that one fateful morning.

_Canary_ .

The silence between had gone on comfortably and accompanied by the gentle lull of the ocean lapping against the concrete walls beneath the dock. Kurapika finished his Malibu and coke and capped the bottle with a sigh. “I wonder if Killua doesn’t know how to flirt outside of the club. Ten bucks says he’s a virgin.”

“Wh-What!” Gon shrieked, louder than intended. A kid looked their way and their mother shooed them off. Gon stammered abruptly, saying, “Why would you—?”

“Damn, you’re right. Fifty bucks,” Kurapika said. “I’m pretty confident.”

“He works at a—! You know!” 

“And? Listen, I don’t think Killua’s ever crossed the line into  _actual_ cold-hard sex work. He’s never gotten paid to give a blowjob or handjob or a quickie or whatever—but Lord knows he’s been offered it  _plenty_ of times. I’m talking more times than I can count on my fingers—”

“K-Kurapika!” Gon cried, mortified. He set his funnelcake aside and groaned. “I’m not going to make a  _bet_ with you about Killua’s virginity.”

Kurapika squinted at him before turning away with a curse and saying, “Damn. This sucks.”

“What does?”

“That we didn’t work out. I woulda made your first time  _amazing_ . Hands down.”

If Gon could exceed the color red, his face certainly did. He wished he could roll off of the dock and into the ocean. “Kurapika…” he groaned, uncomfortable beyond belief. His skin crawled.

“I’m just saying.”

“B-But you like  _guys_ . Wouldn’t you be disappointed if—?”

“Whoa, hey, no. None of that. My sexuality is based on  _identity_ . Not genitals. I don’t care what candy store you’ve got down there—I’ll lick it.”

Kurapika burst out laughing as Gon ceased all motor function. As his brain exploded into a cloud of dust through his ears, someone down the dock recognized him and, likewise, recognized the blonde beauty sitting next to him. 

Gon’s name was called, and the two of them turned to see Retz Nichols strolling up, eyes wide and a DSLR strewn around her neck. She had with her a tablet, which she slipped into her satchel as Gon stammered, “R-Retz! What’re you doing here?”

“Working on a story,” she said. She pointed off to the Alcatraz tour boat. “Two of our classmates were set up on a date—mostly on purpose, but they think it’s an accident. It’s a whole affair, so I’m staking it out to see how it goes.”

She looked to Kurapika and said, “You were with Zoldyck that one day, weren’t you?”

“Zoldyck?” Kurapika repeated.

Gon’s skin crawled. He gestured frantically between them and said, “Retz, this is Killua’s  _friend_ , Kurapika. Kurapika, this is Retz. She’s in the same major as me and Killua.”

Retz put her hand out to Kurapika, who looked at it and pointedly pulled his sunglasses down. Gon grimaced, and quickly slapped on an apologetic smile when Retz raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Well,” she said, “it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Interesting,” Kurapika said.

Retz pursed her lips. Gon jumped to say something, anything. “S-So are we thinking next Saturday for the movie thing?”

“Yeah, if your place is still available.”

She gave him the chance to correct that mistake, but Gon was just too relieved to have shifted the conversation to even consider changing the location. “Yup! Sounds good.”

Retz had to run off to catch the boat, so Gon bid her farewell and, immediately after, Kurapika reequipped his sunhat and turned away from the direction Retz took off in. Gon smiled and Kurapika rolled his eyes. At the turn in the walkway, which put Retz slightly ahead of them, Retz put her DSLR camera up and snapped a picture of Kurapika’s turned head and Gon’s smiling face.

“Did she take a picture?” Kurapika whispered.

Gon smiled apologetically and said, “Yeah, she kinda did…”

“Killua’s gonna gut me,” he said, and Gon laughed. Later that day, they would all be getting notifications from Retz’s newsletter declaring the mysterious figure in the parking garage a  _friend_ of Killua’s rather than a  _lover_ .

* * *

“¿No le molesta a tu novio que estemos saliendo?[1] ” Ikalgo asked the next day when Gon met him outside of his classroom. They were near the student union with plans to grab coffee and work on homework, but it felt a lot like a study date to Gon the moment Ikalgo asked that. 

Gon rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, a blush coloring his cheeks. “I… I didn’t tell him. I don’t  _have_ to tell him who I hang out with, you know,” he said, speaking fast through it all so they could get it over with. He hurried ahead, half-jogging down the steps to the sidewalk. “A-And I’ve got a project to work on! Yeah, I had a recording sesh the other day so I’ve got a lot of files to sort through—”

“Right,” Ikalgo said, and Gon caught him smiling as they wandered side-by-side through the middle of campus to the parking structure. There, they hopped in Gon’s car and made a swift getaway to Bisky’s café where they would spend the afternoon on their computers, reading their textbooks, and pretending that everything was normal.

An hour into it, Gon glanced up from across the narrow, two-person table. Ikalgo caught his eye, only to duck his gaze back down, his dimples showing. Gon snickered and kicked Ikalgo in the shin—mostly by accident.

“Ow, por qué chingados hiciste eso?[2]” Ikalgo laughed, rubbing at his leg.

Gon yelped and said, “¡Oh!, ¡Lo siento! No quería-[3]” They both combusted into giggles at the knee-jerk way Gon’s Spanish blurted out. His face went red in an instant, smiling despite himself. It felt nice knowing that he could even keep up with Ikalgo after years of not touching the language.

“Puedes hablar en inglés o español, vas a hacer que desfallezca,[4]” Ikalgo said, thoroughly sending Gon’s spirit into the afterlife. “Aunque, tengo que admitir, es un poco cansado hablar en inglés todo el tiempo.[5]”

“Puedes usar el que quieras conmigo,[6]” Gon said, lowering his hands from his face. He backtracked instantly.“Though, no promises that I’ll keep up.”

“No te preocupes, no te juzgo,[7]” Ikalgo said. “Me alegra que sigas haciendo música.[8]”

“A mí también,[9]” Gon said, relieved. 

Just as he was starting to calm down, he caught a glimpse of white hair through the front window of the café. Gon’s heart stopped in his chest, only to kickstart at top speed when he heard the front door to the building open, and then again the café door where a bell chimed overhead. Gon sucked in a deep breath, pretending to be focused on his computer, but he knew Ikalgo had full view of the door, and full view of Killua walking into the café.

That evening, Killua worked, which meant that he needed an espresso boost to tide him over. The café down the street from their apartment was his primary pick-me-up location, and was precisely where he ordered his caffeine while Ikalgo leant back in his seat, arms crossed, and looked between Killua and Gon, an eyebrow raised.

Ikalgo turned to Gon, pointing towards the cash register, as he said, “¿No es ese tu novio?[10]”

By now, Killua had a more or less tuned ear for catching any lick of Spanish spoken on campus. Call it paranoia, but he always assumed it was Ikalgo, but grew to chalk it off as the days went by. That day, however, when Killua looked, he caught sight of Gon staring at him like a deer caught in headlights, and Ikalgo, turning to him with look of mock surprise.

Ikalgo blinked, pretending to be startled, and said, “Well, if it isn’t the man of the hour.”

Killua glanced at Bisky, who had already walked off to make his order. He wandered over to their table then, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He observed the textbook on Ikalgo’s bent knee, the laptop in front of him, and Gon with his industry-standard headphones on sitting in front of his laptop. 

_Study date_ , he concluded, his eyes lingering on the panicked way Gon’s eyes were scanning the entire café except him.

“Fancy seeing you two here,” Killua commented. He grabbed the nearest chair and dragged it up beside Gon, who leapt like he was shocked and scooted his chair over to make room. 

“We were just studying,” Ikalgo explained, innocently, and was practically cut off by Killua saying, “Looks like it,” on his way to fetch his espresso. 

When he returned, he took his seat next to gon, kicked one ankle up on his knee, and stretched his free arm over the back of Gon’s chair. He clasped onto the wooden spoke as he glanced at Gon, whose wide, doe-eyes were pinned on his. 

Killua took one look at him and thought,  _Fuck—what an idiot_ , because common sense told him to put Ikalgo at such a distance, the guy might as well be back in Mexico. 

Gon ducked his head, his finger playing along the edge of his computer to distract himself. “What’re you doing here?” Gon asked, his voice quiet. Gon could feel his heart in his throat with every word he squeezed out, and little did he know, that each one punched Killua straight through the heart. 

But Killua recognized when distance was needed. He could tell the signs clear as day, and he thanked his profession for that. He relaxed his hand on the back of Gon’s chair and gave a flippant response. “Just getting some espresso before work,” he said.

“What do you do?” Ikalgo asked.

“I work at a retail warehouse,” Killua lied, and he audibly heard Gon’s breath escape him with relief. “What about you?”

“I don’t have time for a job right now,” Ikalgo said, tipping his head to the side. “Scholarship for track.”

“Huh. Full ride?”

“Yeah, full ride.”

“That’s a pretty sweet deal,” Killua said before taking a sip of his espresso. He set the dish back onto the neighboring table and glanced at Gon’s screen. He recognized those audio spectrums. He leant forward, both feet touching the ground now. “Is this from the session?” he asked, and his interest peaked Gon’s attention.

“Y-Yeah,” Gon said, scrambling to take his headphones off. “I’m almost done—”

“If you let me listen, I can show you what I put together,” Killua said, already taking his phone out. 

The instant Killua had it up, Gon all but leapt for his phone. He hadn’t even considered what Killua would have interpreted from the session. He passed his headphones to Killua, who turned Gon’s computer a touch towards him. The moment he put the headphones on, the rest of the world faded into nothingness. Pitched into a silent bubble, Killua hit play at the exact moment Gon put his phone out for him and Ikalgo to listen to.

Gon settled Killua’s phone at the middle of the table before pinching his hands between his knees, hunched over, his full attention on the music that started with a yearning pull from the accordion.

Then came the keyboard segment—a bright, cheerful tune that Killua prompted Gon record to accompany the extended set in an attempt to get Gon to branch out, and now Gon could hear the full rendition Killua had in mind for him colliding in a masterfully produced ensemble.

The biggest surprise:

The piano trickling along the backdrop of the song, parrying with the keyboard’s trill that waver to and fro in a duet that sung to Gon’s romantic heart in ways it hadn’t before. But the  _piano_ …

He glanced over at Killua, who had his eyes closed, espresso in hand, the other pressed to the headphone piece. Killua’s rendition was so raw and fluent, and Gon never imagined that Killua would go out of his way to record his own segments for the piece. 

When both of their mixes ended, Killua took off the headphones and Gon immediately shrieked, startling everyone at the table including himself, “You play the  _piano?!_ ”

Killua stared at him, eyes wide, as Gon melted off to the side, hands clasped beneath his chin. “I  _love_ the piano… It’s so romantic!” Gon swooned, his heart fluttering in his chest. “This is so beautiful—”

“Yours is as well,” Killua said, and Gon immediately cut off, biting his lip. Killua set the headphones down and said, “No, really. I didn’t even consider adding a bass line. I’ve been thinking ‘traditional’ and you’re over here thinking—”

“Ugh, I don’t even know  _what_ I’m thinking…” Gon moaned, dragging his hands down either side of his face. 

“We only  _just_ started making music together. It’ll take a bit until we’re on the same page,” Killua told him, and the two of them caught each other staring, unintentionally, at the implication. To Gon’s surprise, though, Killua blushed. “If… you’re okay with me interjecting…”

“No! No, I mean—yeah! Of course, please, I like—I like to make music with you,” Gon stammered, flustered, and all shades of red and beyond. 

Killua took the last sip of his espresso, a grin on his lips. He glanced at Ikalgo, who pulled Killua’s phone from the table and reached over to hand it back. Killua thanked him and pocketed it. 

“I should probably get going,” Killua said. He glanced at Gon, who was smiling like an idiot and still listening to Killua’s mix in his head. 

It enveloped Gon in a soft, pink glow filled with rose petals and delight. He nodded and said, “Yeah, okay. Have fun at work.”

Killua couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, sure,” he said, and recalled, once again, that Ikalgo was watching them. Before that, however, he wanted to pretend that they  _were_ actually dating just so he’d have an excuse to kiss Gon’s ridiculous smile. 

_I can’t_ , he thought.

_Not unless you ask?_ his stupid brain said, and he was stupid enough to listen to it.

“Can I kiss you?” Killua asked. 

The question barely processed, and what came out was an instinctual, surface response. The default, if you will. Gon waved him off with a nervous, pitched, “Pff, c’mon. No way—not in  _public_ . That’s—so  _embarrassing_ ,” only to double back with a yelp as Killua took the answer at face-value and stood up to leave. 

Killua turned back to him, a raised eyebrow. Gon had put a hand out to him unknowingly, and immediately retracted it with yet another squeak.

“What?” Killua said.

“You, um, have something on your—your face,” Gon lied, and when Killua put a hand to his cheek, Gon reached out and said, “No, wait, let me get it for you. Lean over here—”

Killua put a hand on the back of his empty chair and leant towards Gon. 

Gon smacked Killua on the lips with his lips like they were two dumb kids in a park. “‘Kay, that was it. Got it,” Gon said, turning away immediately. He pushed Killua by the shoulder so the shock wouldn’t make him linger.

Killua staggered back. Gon pointedly stuck his headphones back on his head so he wouldn’t have to interact again, and as he watched Killua leave out of the corner of his eye, he thought to himself,  _Payback_ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 **¿No le molesta a tu novio que estemos saliendo?** = "Isn’t your boyfriend bothered that we’re hanging out?"  
> [return to text]
> 
> 2 **¿Por qué chingados hiciste eso?** = "Fuck, what was that for?"  
> [return to text]
> 
> 3 **¡Oh!, ¡Lo siento! No quería-** = "Oh, sorry! I didn’t—"  
> [return to text]
> 
> 4 **Puedes hablar en inglés o español, vas a hacer que desfallezca.** = "You could speak English or Spanish and you’ll have me swooning"  
> [return to text]
> 
> 5 **Aunque, tengo que admitir, es un poco cansado hablar en inglés todo el tiempo.** = "Though, I have to say: It’s a bit exhausting speaking English all the time."  
> [return to text]
> 
> 6 **Puedes usar el que quieras conmigo.** = "You can speak whatever (language) you like with me."  
> [return to text]
> 
> 7 **No te preocupes, no te juzgo.** = "Don’t worry—I won’t judge."  
> [return to text]
> 
> 8 **Me alegra que sigas haciendo música.** = "I’m glad you’re still making music."  
> [return to text]
> 
> 9 **A mí también.** = "Me too."  
> [return to text]
> 
> 10 **¿No es ese tu novio?** = "Isn't that your boyfriend?"  
> [return to text]


	23. Mm Whatchya Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Transphobia, slurs, violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Bop lol](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pBI3lc18k8Q&list=PLUmdpiq6JR_sXLPuYea2kHGfXnAdnRcFN&index=70)

**K** illua spent all of work in the presence of nameless men and women. There was a bachelorette party that night in the VIP section and two private sessions in, Killua felt like the music just wasn’t sitting right with him. It felt like he was at a club and didn’t know any of the songs, the lyrics— _none of it_ .

None of it was working for him when his brain was working around the clock, thinking about  _Gon-fucking-Freecss_ .

Killua went to the bar for another shot and there, he found Chrollo sitting with one foot propped up on the spokes of a stool, sipping a gin and tonic. Killua sighed dramatically as he came to stand beside Chrollo, and when he sighed again, Chrollo rose an eyebrow at him. 

Killua pouted like he did for customers. Chrollo rolled his eyes and raised a hand out to flag Leorio down. 

“Tough night?” Chrollo asked. 

“Sort of,” Killua said, hand on his hip. “I just did a vibe check and—”

“This night just isn’t making the cut, huh,” he concluded, and Killua conceded with it. 

Leorio arrived, the makings of a Malibu and coke in his hands. He poured the glass and slid it over to Killua, who took one sip and offered a thumbs up as compensation. Leorio put a hand on his hip and glared at Chrollo, and Chrollo tipped him for Killua’s sake. 

Leorio took the cash with a huff and shook it at Killua, saying, “Just ‘cause you’re lovesick doesn’t mean you don’t tip a man.”

“Lovesick?” Chrollo repeated, an eyebrow raised.

Killua narrowed his eyes and said, “And how would  _you_ know if I’m ‘ _lovesick_ ’? I’ve got a pretty stellar RBF, dude.”

“Yeah, and no one comes to my bar sighing like  _that_ unless they’re lamenting a loved one,” Leorio said.

“We’re in a  _strip club_ ,” Killua cried, indignant. “I can sigh however I want!”

“Yeah, and do it around people who’ll pay for it. Now skedaddle, hotshot,” Leorio said with a snap of his fingers, and Killua groaned, lifting his drink from the bar. 

Chrollo took an idle sip of his gin before swiveling around in his chair to watch Killua walk off. “Feel free to take a night off—there’s no shortage of replacements.”

“Is that a subtle indication that you can kick me to the curb whenever?” Killua said, turning back to him with a hand on his cocked him. 

“It’s just me saying that some nights are better spent at home watching Netflix. And please, Silver—as if I could replace you,” Chrollo said and with that, turned back around to prop his elbow up on the bar and pretend he hadn’t just thrown Killua for a loop.

Killua made a mental tally of his profits that evening and, in the mental math of figuring out groceries and rent, decided that he could afford to spend the rest of the night at home.  _Thank God for bachelorette parties_ , he thought as he left to the back room and busied himself with changing and packing away any used lingerie from that evening.

As he waited for his Uber to arrive, his mind was back on the same path as before, the one that made every song feel off-beat and the lyrics gibberish. 

Of the things he expected Gon to do,  _kiss him_ certainly wasn’t on the list. 

Killua put a thumb to his bottom lip, the edge of a smirk tugging at them.  _If I knew he’d do that, I wouldn’t have even needed espresso for tonight_ , he thought, still buzzing with energy. The root cause of it all was Gon’s unexpected kiss.

Meanwhile, long after Ikalgo left to catch meal times at the athletic dorms, Gon could be found pacing his apartment in a frantic tizzy. 

“What happened to liking Ikalgo! Oh, God, why did I have to do that?!” Gon cried, exasperated with himself. Even  _he_ found his brain confusing—he could only imagine what Killua was thinking, or even what  _Ikalgo_ was thinking. He was two steps too close to being a slut and that just wouldn’t do. Kissing his roommate was  _off limits_ .

It made him insufferably tingly inside in ways he couldn’t comprehend. He stood in the middle of the living room, lips tingling from the memory of kissing Killua two times over. 

He burned like the flames of a bonfire crackling over kindling. 

Perhaps he  _did_ like Killua more than he anticipated…

The fire in his heart popped with a startling shock the moment he heard the lock on the front door turn. It didn’t occur to him that Killua could come home any earlier than midnight, but there he was, trapped in the middle of the apartment with Killua walking in the door at eleven-goddamn-thirty. 

Gon yelped, looking for an escape. He could always go to his room, but he had done that every day this week, and he was sick of running. Still, the thought of facing Killua after the Café Incident nearly pushed him to the brink of cardiac arrest.

They stared at one another down the length of the foyer hallway, their eyes widening at the realization that  _fuck_ , now they had to talk to one another. 

“I-I can explain!” Gon squeaked, like he was just caught standing over Mr. Windham’s body, drenched in his blood. He would have stashed the gun by then—but we can strike the from the record, your honor, since it was speculation and—

_Wait_ , he thought,  _why am I on trial again? This isn’t Legally Blonde!_

The door shut behind Killua. He stepped out of his shoes, his duffle over one shoulder. Gon sucked in a sharp breath, hands grappling for anything— _anything!_ —that might help him now. “I-I thought it might be suspicious! Yeah, if you asked and I didn’t, um, k-kiss you, so I just—”

Killua tossed his duffle aside and approached Gon in the middle of the living room, saying, “Oh, is that it?”

Gon blushed, eyes wide. “Y-Yeah, that’s it. Didn’t want to… seem suspicious.”

Killua’s eyes scanned his, and then dipped lower. Gon became aggressively aware of the fact that he was biting his lip. He quit biting it immediately, but by then, the focus was already there, and  _fuck_ . He was looking at Killua’s lips.  _Stop looking at his mouth, that’s weird!_ he thought to himself, and looked further down instead.  _STOP LOOKING AT HIS CROTCH_ —

“If you’re trying to convince him that we’re in a relationship,” Killua said, and Gon’s eyes were caught on Killua’s again, “then you should learn how to actually kiss.”

Gon’s heart stopped in his chest just to throw its head back and scream,  _GOD, YES, PLEASE_ . Instead, however, he merely said, voice cracking to a higher octave, “That, um—That makes sense.”

The edge of a smirk tugged at Killua’s lips. “Do you want me to show you how it’s done?” he asked, taking a step closer, so Gon could smell the cologne on Killua’s clothes and the tinge of the club still on his skin. 

He sucked in his breath and wondered if Killua could tell what he ate for dinner that night, or maybe that he wears Old Spice deodorant. Killua seemed like the type of guy who wore Dior.

“Y-Yeah,” Gon whispered, his eyes the size of the moon.

“You sure?” Killua asked, and Gon swallowed hard at the sound of Killua’s voice pitched lower, quieter, like they were in a room filled with people and Killua wanted nothing more than to stand there and ask Gon if they could smash their lips together. 

Gon nodded quickly.

Killua pushed even closer, and Gon’s skin tingled at his hip where Killua’s hand brushed down to hold him. He stood perfectly still, even as Killua said, “Okay. Close your eyes and hold still. Consider this your first demonstration.”

Gon’s lips parted, his breath held on his tongue which fell mere centimeters from Killua’s lips as their mouths closed together. Gon’s eyes closed like they did when he put flowers to his cheek and breathed them in. He did just that, inhaling sharply through his nose as Killua’s lips followed through with the motion of gently coaxing Gon towards him. Their chests touched, and Gon held still against him as he memorized the texture of Killua’s lips on his. 

Killua’s free hand cupped Gon’s neck, cradled his jawline, before his fingertips grazed beneath Gon’s chin as he pulled away. 

His eyes fluttered open. He breathed again, staring at Killua’s irises as a naïve awe overcame him. Killua’s accidental morning kiss and Gon’s quick peck didn’t feel anything like  _that_ .

_Was_ that _my first kiss?_ Gon thought, puzzled, muddled, and all levels of overwhelmed. 

“How did that feel?” Killua asked, his hand leaving Gon’s waist. Gon had his hands against Killua’s chest, unknowingly, and immediately jerked them back. 

He passed his hand over his neck where Killua’s fingers had held him.  _Definitely my first kiss_ , he thought to himself, eyes flitting everywhere  _but_ Killua as he considered what he had thought was his first. 

When Killua called him Canary.

_Shit_ , he thought, eyes wide.  _Doesn’t he like Canary? Why would he—?_

“Do you… like me?” Gon asked, quietly. 

Killua startled with a laugh, leaning back on his heels. “I think you know the answer by now. But if you need me to spell it out for your—then yes, I do.”

“But—” he started, cheeks red. 

Killua raised an eyebrow at him. “What? Doubting my feelings? Would another demonstration convince you or perhaps—” As Killua took a step towards him, Gon squeaked and hurried towards the kitchen, away from Killua’s outstretched arms. 

Killua let his hands drop to his sides. He watched after Gon, who busied himself with hauling the dirty pot from the stovetop, saying, “I, um, I made more food! Yeah, and since you seemed to like the chicken I made last week I made extra for you. I put your name on the container in the fridge so, um, that’s for you. I’m thinking about going grocery shopping again soon so just let me know if you need anything—”

Killua sighed. He supposed he didn’t expect anything less, and it’d take time before Gon could fully process it. Besides, they lived together. It was bound to be uncomfortable at the start, but he couldn’t deny that the kiss had certainly melted away some of the awkward tension in the air. If only he could just—He wasn’t sure. 

_Perhaps showing physical affection isn’t the right route so soon after…_ he thought to himself as he headed back to the hallway to fetch his duffle. As he threw his clothes in the wash, Gon cleaned up in the kitchen 

For a brief moment, Killua wondered what would happen if he walked out of the foyer wearing the lingerie he wore for work that day.  _The idiot would probably pass out_ , Killua thought, judging from the way Gon had ogled at him even before he realized who the dancer was on stage. 

They night ended quickly for the both of them. With Killua’s laundry in the washer, he retired to his room to finish his readings for the next day and, with Killua out of the shared space, Gon finished cleaning and disappeared into his room for the night.

As Gon shut his bedroom door, he stood for a moment to assess the damage. Or rather, the  _reaction_ he unknowingly had to Killua’s early arrival home that night. In spite of his awkwardness, the hopeful romantic in him was positively tingling. He pressed a hand to his sore cheek, trying to stop himself from smiling and failing tremendously at it.

He put a hand in his hair and laughed to himself. “Well, that’ll take some getting used to,” he thought aloud before biting his lip, shutting his eyes, and breaking into a little victory dance. He thrust his fists in the air and if he could have screamed “ _Fuck yeah!_ ” he would have.

But alas, he shared a wall with Killua, and that just wouldn’t do. 

It would take an enormous amount of willpower for Gon to sleep that night, especially when all he could thing about was that  _damn kiss_ . He smiled to himself, huddled under the blankets, and could be found, beaming, in the morning when his alarm chimed and the new day began. 

Or rather, instead of his alarm, he was awoken by the  _ding_ of an alert on his phone. 

Gon pushed himself up onto his elbow, reaching across the mattress to fetch his phone. He turned it over and squinted at the notification. His brain stopped entirely at the title. 

_Student Housing Services_ .

He stared at it a moment longer before leaping forward with a start. He kicked his blankets off, eyes wide, and scrambled to open the email. 

This was what he was waiting for, wasn’t it? Sure, having an apartment was fun and all, but when it came down to it, the freshmen year experience circled around dorm life. It was why he put his name on the waitlist to begin with, and was also why he was quick to read through the email with bright, attentive eyes. If he didn’t respond soon enough, he might miss this chance. 

“‘ _We have an opening for one in a two-person dorm at Hatsu Hall. If you’d like to claim it, call or visit the student services desk in the Hatsu lobby. We’ve contacted several other waitlist applicants, so please—‘_ ” He couldn’t read the rest of it, not when he was balancing on one foot to get his damn jeans on so he could get out the door. 

Gon skidded out of the room, grabbing his backpack and guitar case as he went. He pulled the straps of his backpack on, guitar swinging at his side as he haphazardly stepped down to the middle of the living room before realizing that the bathroom light was on, and Killua’s shadow was in the hallway. 

He came to a screeching halt.

A sick, plummeting sensation grew in the pit of his stomach.

It hadn’t occurred to him until that moment that scoring a spot in the dorms meant moving out and leaving Killua behind. Killua, who could maybe, possibly,  _almost_ afford to live in this apartment alone, but who knew for sure? Gon certainly didn’t, and that uncertainty turned into a grumbling pit of guilt that dampened any excitement he had for hearing about the dorm opening.

Gon strangled the strap on his guitar, frowning down at the ground. He didn’t stop to think about what it felt like to live with Killua until that moment. He didn’t think to consider how his stupid sleep schedule had him anticipating Killua’s late-night returns—even when he chose to hide for those occasions, he couldn’t deny the relief he felt every time Killua came home. He didn't think to cherish every time he got to greet Killua at the door, or think to smile at all of Killua’s teasing and coarse habits. 

He just  _didn’t think about it_ .

He didn’t think about how much he liked living with Killua. 

_Stop it_ , he told himself, shaking his head. His mind went back to the kiss, and what it all meant for their relationship as roommates.  _You can’t live with someone you might end up dating!_

_Would Killua even be interested in me if we didn’t live together?_ he thought. 

Perhaps it was all convenience for Killua.

This thought alone steeled Gon against everything else. Even if he  _liked_ living with Killua, he couldn’t deny the perfection of it. The coincidence that even led to Killua liking him in the first place.  _Killua never would have been interested in me if we didn’t live together_ , he told himself, and kept walking.

As Gon passed the open bathroom door, Killua straightened over the sink from washing his face. He caught sight of Gon out of the corner of his eye as he grabbed a towel and rubbed it over his face. He went to the edge of the bathroom to say, “Good morning.”

Gon slipped on his shoes and said, “Morning!”

“Leaving so early?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got, uh, an appointment! Yeah, so I gotta get to campus straight away,” Gon said without looking back. He swung the door open, keys in hand, and said, “Bye!” 

Killua rose an eyebrow as Gon made his escape. He sighed.  _Back to hiding_ , he thought, and decided that he wasn’t an idiot. He could tell when a person needed boundaries, so he wouldn’t push it.

It took only ten minutes that morning for Gon to drive to campus, and another five to park his car. It wasn’t quite as busy that morning as the midday rush he was used to. He took his guitar with him with every intention of serenading Zushi at class that afternoon, or maybe practicing in the studios. He  _did_ like the idea of composing again, especially when he could hear Killua’s simple piano piece trilling in his head and sending him spinning in front of Hatsu Hall.

He bounded up the steps, humming under his breath as he came to the doors and caught sight of Knuckle Bine making his way to the exit for class. They crossed between the two sections of doors and Knuckle gasped with delight.

“Gon! What’re you doing here?” Knuckle said, tackling Gon in a hug.

Gon giggled, cheek smushed against the guy’s chest. “There’s an opening here and I was on the waitlist. I  _did_ get an apartment ‘cause the dorms were full, so I figured I’d check it out. Meet a potential roomie.”

“That’d be so awesome if you lived here!” Knuckle said, and Gon couldn’t deny it. It  _would_ be nice. Gon wasn’t exactly an athlete, but he could picture Knuckle and the other track kids wreaking havoc across the dorm corridors. It’d be amazing to be able to walk a few floors down and knock on a friend’s door.

Knuckle released Gon in a hurry, gasping, “I gotta get to class! I’ll text you later, all right? Let me know how it goes!”

“Okay!” Gon promised, waving farewell and watching as Knuckle vaulted down the steps from Hatsu Hall and onto the campus sidewalks. 

Gon went to the front desk and inquired about the room. They took his name down and found it on the waitlist. The student worker gestured across the lobby and said, “The RA will be down shortly. There’s another student here—you can wait with them at the security door.”

“Okay, thank you,” Gon said, smiling wide. 

Before he could make his way to the dorm’s security door, caught sight of it opening, and startled at the familiar face emerging from it. He really shouldn’t have been surprised—it  _was_ the athletics dorm, anyway.

Ikalgo stepped out, the strap of his backpack over one shoulder, and his hoodie unzipped over a marathon t-shirt. He let the door shut behind him before looking up and catching Gon’s eyes.

Gon raised a shy hand in greeting, and Ikalgo smiled. 

“Hey, ¿qué estás haciendo aquí?[1]” he asked, crossing the lobby and the columns that flanked the hallway and the windows overlooking the street.

Gon passed his hand through his hair and said, “There’s, uh, an opening. I tried getting into the dorms this semester but it didn’t work out.”

“Sí, es despiadado. Ahora que lo pienso, apenas me dieron un cuarto,[2]” Ikalgo confessed, smiling sheepishly out at the windows. He glanced back at Gon, and they both laughed. “Hey, maybe I was the reason you got waitlisted.”

“Maybe. But you’re here on scholarship—they probably prioritize those students.”

“Maybe. Unless they’d prefer students paying several grand a semester so they can pay for less shitty food,” he said, and Gon laughed. “Nah, no está tan mal.[3] You know what floor you’d be on?”

“Not really,” Gon confessed. “To be honest, I didn’t really scour the email. I just woke up and flew here once I got the notification.”

Ikalgo tipped his head, a curious look on his face. “Scour?” he repeated, and Gon translated it. “Ah, bueno, no te culpo. Éste edificio está... especialmente bello en comparación con los demás.[4]”

They wandered down the hallway together until Gon spied the benches along the window, and the person sitting beyond the cover of the decorative columns. 

He paused at the sight of the other student, who had to be the one the student worker mentioned. He realized coming second would already put him at a disadvantage for getting the dorm, but he didn’t expect his competition to be familiar—

—and wholeheartedly terrifying.

Gon skidded to a halt, eyes wide. Ikalgo was talking until that moment, and his voice faded away to the fringes of Gon’s mind to make room for unadulterated  _terror_ . 

He recognized that guy, who was sitting with his feet on the bench, his eyes out the window. He recognized that guy from community college, specifically, one of the many occasions Gon didn’t feel quite as safe as he should. He had chalked it up to paranoia and nerves of being a freshmen until guys at his dorm dug up evidence that Gon had very much looked  _fem_ at one point and put two and two together.

Gon clutched Melvin 2.0 to his chest and turned away, eyes frozen on the opposite wall, just past Ikalgo’s shoulder. “I, um, I should go,” he whispered.

His nerves turned his fingers to static. He didn’t feel real. It felt like his personality had floated off with his soul into the stratosphere. He regretted bringing Melvin 2.0 with him and wished he would have left his guitar in the car—or, better yet, back at his dorm where people couldn't throw it out windows. Why did he think it was a good idea to cart Melvin 2.0 around like this? 

Of course there would always be another person wanting to throw his precious guitar out a window—or maybe even  _him_ out a window.

“Why? I thought you were checking out the dorms,” Ikalgo asked, and Gon flinched. He wished Ikalgo would have said it in Spanish, otherwise the guy at the window wouldn’t have caught on that  _Gon was there to see the same dorm as him_ .

Gon started to walk away just as the guy leant forward, head tipped, trying to see Gon’s face. “Well, if it isn’t the tomboy.”

“Leave me alone, Leol,” Gon said, instinctively. Last semester, he wouldn’t have imagined telling the guy off, but he grew spoilt by the innate understanding in his major.

Leol stood up to follow, and Gon walked faster until he caught wind of Leol saying, “Oi, let me through, Valentina. I’ve got a bone to pick with the tranny.”

Gon had expected Ikalgo to follow him, but instead, when he looked back, Ikalgo had stopped Leol with a hand on his chest. “What did you just call him?” Ikalgo said, and it sent a cold shudder down his spine. 

_Holy shit_ , Gon thought, eyes just as wide as Leol’s double-take. “Do… Do you two know each other?” Gon asked.

Leol stepped back from Ikalgo, stance just as broad as his shoulders as he looked Ikalgo up and down and said, “Yeah, you could say that. You know this kid, Valentina?”

Ikalgo didn’t look back, his hand still raised as if to tackle Leol if he took another step. “He’s a discus thrower for the track team,” Ikalgo explained to Gon.

_That means Leol’s been around since the start of the semester_ , he thought, his grip on his guitar tightening.  _I could have run into him all this time and didn’t know it. Why would he transfer?_

“You gonna answer my question?” Leol asked, gesturing to Gon, who resisted the urge to cry on the spot—just barely.

“Yeah,” Ikalgo said. He took a step towards Leol, who turned wary and grimaced when Ikalgo slapped an arm around his shoulders and said, “Outside.”

He walked Leol past Gon, who looked between them and the door and decided that the thought of living  _on campus_ now nauseated him beyond belief. He chased after Ikalgo and Leol, his heart racing in his chest. They passed the front door and the lobby desk on the way to the emergency exit out back, and at the door, Ikalgo nudged it open and pushed Leol out ahead of him. 

Before Gon could follow, Ikalgo barred his exit with a hand against the doorframe and leant close to ask, “¿Cómo conoces a éste tipo?[5]”

Gon swallowed hard, his fingers still numb. “Él, um, solía vivir conmigo en los cuartos de la universidad en la que estuve el semestre pasado.[6]”

“Sí, y dime porque estás tan pálido ahora mismo.[7]”

Gon looked at his feet and said, “P-porque lanzó mi guitarra por la ventana.[8]”

Ikalgo said nothing. After a moment, he stepped through the door and the brief moment he held onto it gave Gon the clear to sneak out with him. The door banged shut after them and Gon would have walked straight into Ikalgo’s back had Leol not spoken up.

“Looks like you’ve got someone to hide behind now, huh  ☐☐☐☐ ?” he said, stepping back towards the dumpsters and the landing for food drop-offs for the dorm dining hall. He hopped up the steps, casually, like Ikalgo  _wasn’t_ glaring daggers at him all the way.

“Why did you transfer here?” Gon asked despite himself and the way his voice shook.

“Certainly not because you’re here, bitch. Don’t flatter yourself,” he said. 

Gon went bright red, all of the heat in his body consolidated in his forehead where his frown had etched lines into his skin.

“Follow me,” Ikalgo said, walking ahead down the asphalt slope away from the dumpsters. Gon glanced at Leol, who hopped from the platform block and landed heavily on the concrete. Gon jerked away, all but jogging after Ikalgo as questions swarmed in a flurry in his brain.

_Did he get a scholarship like Ikalgo?_ Gon wondered, but  _no_ , even if Leol was an excellent discus thrower, he still needed half a braincell to keep his GPA up.

_Where are we going?_ he thought as Ikalgo walked around the corner of the brick building. They were on one of the back sidewalks that cut between buildings rather than streets. 

_Why are we out here?_

_What’s going on?_

_Why can’t I feel my fingers?_

Gon rubbed his hand against his face to try and bring life back to them. After turning the corner, Ikalgo slung his backpack off of his shoulders and tossed it to the asphalt several paces down. Gon was shaking so terribly and was so on edge that when Leol made the turn and Ikalgo grabbed him by the front of his shirt, Gon let out a startled shriek.

Ikalgo jerked Leol forward. In his surprise, Leol did nothing to retaliate until Ikalgo had him pinned against the brick wall. Leol put his hands up and said, “Whoa dude, you really wanna risk it all like that?”

“No,” Ikalgo said, and Gon snapped his mouth shut, his fingers trembling over his lips. Sure, Ikalgo could manhandle Leol all he wanted but if the guy went crying to administration, Ikalgo could kiss his scholarship goodbye. Ikalgo glanced around them and said, “This is where athletes at Hatsu go to smoke. You wanna know why?” 

“Humor me,” Leol scoffed, grinning.

Ikalgo leant in close and hissed, “ _No cameras_ ,” before swinging his fist back and cracking it across Leol’s face. 

Leol staggered to the side, skidding across the brick wall as Gon leapt in horror and amazement. He had never seen someone  _actually_ get punched before, and witnessing it firsthand only amplified the feeling in Gon’s gut that none of this was real and none of this was happening. He wasn’t  _actually_ seeing Leol again, and he wasn’t actually seeing Leol straighten, blood smeared under his nose, as he hissed, “And here I thought you were a little bitch, Valentina,” before grabbing at Ikalgo’s throat.

Ikalgo ducked back, skirting away from the edge of the building. Leol chased after him, grabbing him by the arm and heaving him forward. Gon tripped back, yelping when Ikalgo twisted his arm up and looped around behind Leol. He shoved Leol’s arm behind his back and slammed him into the wall, pinning his cheek to the brick with his hand fisted in Leol’s black hair.

Leol rammed his elbow back against Ikalgo’s stomach. Ikalgo cursed just as Leol hooked his foot around Ikalgo’s ankle and  _tugged_ . Ikalgo went off balance, staggering back and narrowly dodging the swing of Leol’s fist at his face. 

He ducked and jabbed Leol in the ribs before angling his hand to his hip and swinging it up in a painfully loud  _clap!_ across Leol’s cheek. 

It almost sounded like that slap hurt more than the actual punch. It sounded like a firecracker popping off on the Fourth of July. Gon’s jaw dropped, and he would have laughed if there wasn’t so much  _blood_ pouring from Leol’s nose.

Ikalgo stepped back, clutching at his rib, panting. Leol clasped a hand over his cheek, cursing, before spitting blood on the asphalt. It splattered, dark and red, on the pavement. His upper lip was colored black with it. 

Ikalgo jabbed a finger in Gon’s direction and snapped, “ _Apologize_ .”

Leol gasped, panting, the back of his hand pressed beneath his nose. “I didn’t  _do anything_ to her.”

Gon flinched, and by the look on Ikalgo’s face, he saw red. 

* * *

Hatsu Hall had a kitchen and Ikalgo had gauze in his backpack for practice, so Gon accompanied him there. 

Gon wasn’t sure  _what_ he felt, especially when his personality and soul were off orbiting Earth still. He was numb all over, but still hot in the face from the chaos his heart was going through. He was still clutching his guitar to his chest as he watched the water from the faucet turn pink in Ikalgo’s hands. 

“Sorry I couldn’t get him to apologize,” Ikalgo said, a scowl set on his face.

“It’s fine,” Gon said, and Ikalgo glanced at him, sharply, and Gon sighed, looking down at his hands. “Okay, it’s not fine. But I didn’t—I didn't expect him to apologize anyway. So it doesn’t matter. I don’t think I would have believed him anyway.”

“Yeah,” Ikalgo sighed, grabbing a towel from the dispenser. He dabbed it gingerly over his bruised knuckles. They both looked at them in silence before Ikalgo put a hand to his rib and took a deep breath. “That’s gonna be a bitch in practice tomorrow.”

“Won't they see the bruises?”

“I’ll just ask one of the girls for concealer. I’ve done it before—works pretty well,” Ikalgo said, half-limping to the island countertop. He cursed and dropped down into one of the stools. 

Gon propped Melvin 2.0 against the counter and went to sit beside Ikalgo. The gauze was out, but before Ikalgo could reach for it, Gon had his hands on it. He held it back from Ikalgo, who drummed his fingers on the counter and waited for Gon to give it up.

“You’ve done this before?” Gon asked, and Ikalgo simply stared at him. “When? While you were here?”

“No, not here—”

“And how’d you know about the smoking area?” he asked, and when Ikalgo said nothing, Gon pouted at him. “I’m not gonna rat you out. I just wanna know.”

Ikalgo sucked in a sharp breath and let it out as he said, “I’m working on it.” Gon rose his eyebrow at him, and Ikalgo lifted his right back. They stared each other down until Ikalgo jerked forward and snatched the gauze from Gon’s unprepared grasp. Gon gasped, annoyed, and Ikalgo snickered. “Got it.”

“I’m surprised your abuelita hasn’t made you quit.”

“Are you kidding? She smokes a pack a day,” Ikalgo said, and Gon couldn’t help but laugh. 

He grinned as he wrapped the gauze between his fingers with the speed and precision of someone who did this frequently for practice. He took the edge of the cloth gauze between his teeth and stretched it taunt so he could go in with the scissors and snip it. He secured it with a metal pin before dealing with the other hand. 

“Do you have class today?” Ikalgo asked. 

“Yeah, not for another hour though,” Gon sighed. 

“What about the room?”

“Don’t really want it anymore,” he confessed. “I’ll be fine in my apartment.”

“That must be lonely though,” Ikalgo said, and Gon looked away in order to avoid being caught lying through his teeth. “If you ever need company…”

“Oh, no, I’m fine, really.” He waved his hands quickly, and the familiar banter brought a fraction of himself back down to Earth so he could meet Ikalgo’s eyes and say, “I have a boyfriend, remember.”

“Ah, so I don’t get any points for risking my life. Almost dying…” Ikalgo teased, leaning an elbow against the countertop. He pinned the gauze in place and tossed the roll into his open backpack before meeting Gon’s eyes, a soft smile on his lips. 

Gon rolled his eyes. “You didn’t almost die, and if you did, you asked for it.”

“Have you no pity for me?”

“None whatsoever,” he said, and with that, he pushed his stool back and spun away from the counter. He grabbed Melvin 2.0 before turning back and saying, “But  _thank you_ . Really. I wish I could have punched him at least  _once_ last semester.”

“Oh, please don’t. You might break your hand,” he said.

“Oh, like you couldn’t?”

“Practice.” Ikalgo brandished a cheeky smile, and Gon rolled his eyes at it. As he walked to the kitchen door, Ikalgo said in a teasing voice, “Goodbye, Gon.”

Gon leant in, a hand on the doorframe and mocked his tone, “ _Goodbye, Ikalgo_ ,” before leaving with a smile on his face. He wouldn’t be recovered for a long while, but he was glad Ikalgo was there . He wasn’t sure what he would have done if he was alone.

And that thought terrified him.

He hugged his guitar close. He might be alone next time, and he was far from ready for that to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this type of angst won't last D: The boys will be back to kissing in no time (I hope)
> 
> 1 **Hey, ¿qué estás haciendo aquí?** = "Hey. What’re you doing here?"  
> [return to text]
> 
> 2 **Sí, es despiadado. Ahora que lo pienso, apenas me dieron un cuarto.** = "Yeah, it’s pretty cutthroat. I barely got my room, now that I think of it"  
> [return to text]
> 
> 3 **Nah, no está tan mal.** = "Nah, it’s not too bad."  
> [return to text]
> 
> 4 **Ah, bueno, no te culpo. Éste edificio está... especialmente bello en comparación con los demás.** = "Ah, well, I don’t blame you. This building is… especially nice compared to the other dorms."  
> [return to text]
> 
> 5 **¿Cómo conoces a éste tipo?** = “How do you know this guy?”  
> [return to text]
> 
> 6 **Él, um, solía vivir conmigo en los cuartos de la universidad en la que estuve el semestre pasado.** = “He, um, he used to live in the dorms with me at the community college I went to last semester.”  
> [return to text]
> 
> 7 **Sí, y dime porque estás tan pálido ahora mismo.** = “Yeah, and tell me why you're so pale right now.”  
> [return to text]
> 
> 8 **P-porque lanzó mi guitarra por la ventana.** = “‘C-Cause he threw my guitar out a window.”  
> [return to text]


	24. You Belong To Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Bop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9OZXhUx9Xo0) :)

**T** he next day, Killua woke up to the knowledge that Gon had already left for class. The apartment was quiet as Killua awoke to the ungodly sound of his alarm blaring. And, when he checked in the fridge, there was still a container left for him from two days prior when Gon prepared food for the week. 

_I should really pay him for groceries_ , Killua thought as he packed his backpack and took off for class. 

When he got to class, though, Gon’s usual spot was left empty between Zushi and Knuckle. 

Killua paused at the stairs, a perturbed feeling sinking into his gut. Something was off, and he wouldn’t realize until after sitting in contemplation all through lecture. It was only after class that Zushi would catch up to him just outside of the classroom to say, “Have you heard from Gon?”

Killua paused in the hallway. A few students glanced at them and Killua felt distinctly  _watched_ as he said, “Not today, why?” He dragged his eyes back over to Zushi, who turned bashful in an instant, looking down at his feet, cheeks flushed.

Knuckle emerged from the classroom behind them, saying, “Gon sends good morning texts to the group chat and he didn’t today.”

_Of fucking course he does_ , Killua thought, resisting the urge to snicker. “Yeah, I haven’t heard from him today. Sorry.”

The three of them walked towards the doors as Zushi said, “Are you gonna see him later today? I was thinking about going over to his place—”

“Yeah, I’ll see him later today,” Killua said, mostly because he still wasn’t quite comfortable with visitors. If anyone snooped around his room, he didn’t exactly have a safe to store his lingerie for work.

He pushed open the door and stepped out, only to startle at the sight of that familiar Mexican bastard Ikalgo sitting on the stone ledge. Not only that, but his hands were bandaged up and initially, Killua chalked it off as a pole vaulting thing. If he knew anything about working a pole, it was that blisters were a bitch.

Ikalgo perked up at the sight of them and glanced behind them.  _Yet another visitor for the idiot_ , Killua thought, sighing. 

“He’s not here,” Killua said.

“I just wanted to check in with him,” Ikalgo said, hopping off of the ledge.

Killua rolled his eyes, hands in his pockets. “Is that a new euphemism for ‘ _stalk_ ’?”

Ikalgo squinted at him and said, “No. After what happened yesterday I figured he might not be doing too great.”

“What do you mean?” Knuckle said. “I saw him when he went to check out the dorms and he looked fine.”

Killua’s mind screeched to a halt at Knuckle’s insinuation. He glanced at Knuckle, who’s attention was on Ikalgo. Zushi looked between all three of them and, after assessing Killua’s narrowed eyes, said, “What do you mean, ‘checking out the dorms’?”

“Apparently there’s an opening,” Knuckle said. “Someone’s roommate left this semester.”

Killua didn’t have long to process that before Ikalgo sighed and said, “Fat chance he’ll go for it. There was a guy from his old community college that seemed interested in the room. Some guy who threw his guitar out a window.”

“ _What?_ Here?!” Zushi cried, horrified.

“No, not here. Last semester,” Ikalgo said. “It sounded like he had a rough go of it last semester. I got Leol to back off—Leol from discus,” he explained to Knuckle, who’s eyes widened.

“Gon knows Leol?” he said, shocked. “He looked rough at practice this morning.”

Killua’s eyes dropped to Ikalgo’s hands. He looked up and caught the guy’s eye and said, “What’d he say to Gon?”

“I can’t repeat it,” he said, and it certainly didn’t take Killua a jump and a leap to come to the conclusion that the fight Ikalgo got in was worth it.

It wasn’t nearly as bizarre to Killua as he might have thought, but it was none the less unnerving and  _infuriating_ to hear. He was used to snide remarks considering his profession, and he had flagged down Machi on more than one occasion to deal with vocal customers, but he had gotten into the habit of trusting his coworkers to take care of their own affairs. He had spent a good couple weeks nervous for the sake of the other dancers, but after watching Kurapika backhand a guy for good reason, he relaxed a little. They could handle themselves just fine.

But Gon wasn't a dancer, and he certainly wasn’t equipped with the hardy backbone of a stripper when it came to crude comments, no matter what they were. 

“We should check in on Gon,” Zushi said. “Just to see if he’s all right.”

“You mean he didn’t come to class today?” Ikalgo asked, and Zushi and Knuckle shook their heads. Ikalgo looked to Killua, who grew more and more anxious of the fact that he was, quite literally, the last person to suspect that something was off. He was certain Zushi and Knuckle came to that conclusion before class even began that morning, but Killua didn’t realize until after finding Gon’s seat empty.

He thought about what Knuckle had said about Gon looking at a dorm room.  _Is he planning on moving out?_ he thought, guilt draining the color from his face.  _Is he really that uncomfortable living with me?_

“Will you come with us if we go to Gon’s apartment?” Zushi said, and Killua blinked, realizing that the guy was talking to  _him_ .

“I—Um, yes. I have a key,” he said, and Zushi smiled and started ahead, catching up to Knuckle on their way to the bus. 

Ikalgo lingered back for Killua, and as Killua caught up, the guy trailed along beside him, his bandaged hands tucked away in his pockets. They walked in silence until Knuckle and Zushi were farther ahead so Ikalgo could say, “I find it odd that you acted so surprised about what happened to Gon. Aren’t you two dating?”

“We are,” he bit out through clenched teeth. “Gon doesn’t have to share every little thing with me.”

“This isn’t exactly ‘ _little_ ’,” Ikalgo said, and Killua wanted to punch something—preferably Ikalgo’s face.

“I know it isn’t. But if Gon doesn’t want to talk about it, I don’t want to make the situation worse,” he said, and that was true. Some people coped better by avoiding conversation about it. He and Gon weren’t exactly on the sort of terms that warranted transparency anyway, but he at least hoped that Gon would speak up if he really wanted Killua to know there was a problem.

_But he never told you that he was planning on moving out so soon_ , his irrationality reminded him, and the guilt continued to fester. 

_Maybe he really doesn’t like you_ .

“Maybe he doesn’t trust you,” Ikalgo said.

Killua sighed, looking out at the road as he muttered, “Yeah, maybe. Maybe not with this.”

“Then what does he trust you with?” Ikalgo said as they slowed at the bus stop. The bus approached as Killua brandished the keys to his apartment and waved it in Ikalgo’s face. Ikalgo narrowed his eyes at Killua as the four of them boarded the bus and paid their respective fares. 

Killua stood during the ride, his shoulder pressed to one of the poles, arms crossed. Across the walkway, Ikalgo clasped a hand on one of the handholds over their heads, looking like a total douche canoe with his partially-undone button up and bomber jacket. They eyed each other like mortal enemies do in the Wild West at a tavern, preferably with tumble weeds for special effects. Zushi side-eyed Knuckle and whispered, “Geez,” to which Knuckle replied, “Louise.”

At their designated stop, Killua tugged on the string and was the first to step out of the bus. He hopped to the pavement and led the march across the street to the apartment. 

He let them all into the building, his nerves in a disarray. He always shut his bedroom door out of paranoia, and the toothbrushes were fine now that everyone thought they were dating. What else was he missing? He supposed his name on the prepped meal containers made sense—but would they even look in the fridge?

He shook his head.  _You’re overthinking it_ , he told himself as he reached their floor. He pulled out the key to their door and unlocked it.

Through the crack in the door, they heard the muffled sound of music playing across the apartment. Gon’s bedroom door was open, just a crack, and Gon’s limp body was sprawled over the floor with his head flopped off of the stairs. He had Melvin 2.0 in his arms, gently strumming off-beat to  _Bohemian Rhapsody_ as he sang, “ _No escape from re-al-ity… Open your eyes… Look up to the skies and see… I’m just a poor boy—I need no sympathy—_ ”

He glanced back—or rather, upside down—at Killua in the foyer backed by Ikalgo, Zushi, and Knuckle.

Gon yelped, startled, and bolted upright. His bum lost balance on the steps and he tumbled back, flinging Melvin 2.0 into the air to avoid impact. He hit the living room floor with a _thud_ and a groan, his guitar held at arm’s length over his head. 

“Uh… hey,” Zushi said, weakly. He stepped past Killua, slipping his shoes off as he went, and Knuckle and Ikalgo followed suit. Killua rubbed a hand against his chin and contemplated the bizarre state they found Gon in. “You weren’t in class today and we wanted to check in on you.”

Gon laid back on the floorboards and put Melvin 2.0 back to his stomach, his fingers laying flat on the strings. He tapped away a hollow set of notes on the frets and sighed, “I overslept.”

“That’s okay,” Knuckle said, crouching down beside Gon. Gon stared at the ceiling past Knuckle’s head and, after a few seconds of dreadful silence, his bottom lip began to waver. 

Tears bubbled up over his lashes as he turned onto his side, hugging Melvin 2.0 as Knuckle cooed and patted his hair. “S-Sorry,” Gon rasped, taking a shaky breath in as he sat up just far enough for Knuckle to put his knee to the ground and hug the idiot. 

Killua’s nerves jolted at the sound of Gon’s restrained, muffled breaths against Knuckle’s shirt. He hesitated next to Ikalgo as his heart shattered into a million pieces on the ground. For a moment, he forgot what his role was supposed to be and lost complete sight of what he was supposed to do in this situation. He wasn’t equipped to comfort people. Wasn’t it weird for them to all gather around and just  _watch?_

He moved forward just as Ikalgo did. They both paused to look at each other, and that second of hesitation felt like an invitation for Killua to go first. He was, after all, Gon’s fake boyfriend.

He crouched down beside Gon and rubbed a hand across his back. Zushi asked where the tissues were, and Killua directed him to the bathroom. As he did, Ikalgo walked up the steps to where Gon had his bed sheets sprawled out across the wood. He started folding them up and picking up the discarded pillows along the way. 

Ikalgo fetched a pillow from the kitchen where, an hour before, Gon had checked it across the room in a fit of frustration. He set the stack of blankets on the kitchen table and went in search of a glass—crying  _was_ dehydrating, after all. Before defaulting to the faucet, he checked the fridge for a filtered pitcher, and when he found none, he shut the door and paused at the flap of paper pinned by a magnet to the fridge.

Ikalgo hesitated, the glass in hand. He glanced back at the living room as Zushi came scurrying in with the tissue box. He looked back at the paper titled “ _Roommate Agreement_ ” and thought,  _But Gon doesn’t have a roommate?_

His eyes stilled at Killua’s name under the second rule: “ _Killua reserves primary bathroom access after midnigh_ t”. The image of Killua flashing his keys in Ikalgo’s face came to mind.

He glanced at Gon’s open bedroom door, and then again several paces over to the closed door at the top of the stairs. 

He caught a glimpse of Gon whispering, “I hate crying,” and it snapped him back into gear. He went to the faucet and finished pouring the glass, his mind wrapping endlessly around the question,  _Why is Gon living with his boyfriend? and why would he lie about it?_

“I don’t think anyone likes crying,” Killua said, and Gon laughed miserably against a tissue. “Do you always play Queen when you feel shitty?”

Gon laughed again and moaned, “Aw, stop it. So mean.”

Knuckle cleared his throat and, with one arm extended like he was on stage, sang with progressive dramatics, “ _Didn’t mean to make you cry—If I’m not back again this time tomorrow—! CARRY ON, CARRY—!_ ” Gon shut him up but shoving the tissue box in his face. 

Ikalgo sat on the steps near them and held the glass out to Gon, who thanked him, mostly recovered now aside from the pink tinge to his nose and eyes. 

_If he has a roommate, why would he move to the dorms just to get another roommate?_ Ikalgo thought.

“I, um, I take it you all know what happened then,” Gon said, glancing at Zushi before looking down at the water glass. 

“Yeah, Ikalgo told us,” he said. 

“I thought they might have known,” Ikalgo said, and Gon smiled a little. “Sorry—I should have asked.”

“It’s fine,” Gon said. He shook his head a little and said, “Better, actually. I’d rather not talk about it anyway.”

“I’d like to ask something else, though,” Ikalgo said, clasping his hands around his knees. Gon looked up from the glass to meet his eyes. “Do you have a roommate?”

Gon blinked, confused. He took a sip of water and said, “No, why do you ask?”

Ikalgo looked at Killua, who stilled, his hand still on Gon’s back. “Then why is your name on the roommate agreement sheet on the refrigerator?”

Gon’s heart came to a full stop there in the middle of the living room, staring wide-eyed at Ikalgo. He felt Knuckle retract with shock, or maybe confusion, as Killua lowered his forehead to his hand and cursed, “ _Fuck_ .”

“Wait—What are you talking about?” Zushi said, and Gon flinched, glancing back as Zushi was already halfway to the kitchen, racing to the refrigerator. He tore the paper off of the door, sending the magnet scattering across the tiles as he turned the paper around and read the list over. 

“It’s—It’s not what you think,” Gon started, weakly. He grimaced when Killua gave him a deadpanned look out of the corner of his eye. “O-Okay, maybe it is what you think…”

“Are you two even dating?” Ikalgo asked.

“Yes,” Gon said at the same time Killua said, “No.” They both looked at each other, eyes wide. Killua swallowed hard and said nothing, so Gon clarified, closing his eyes. “It’s complicated.”

“Why… would you lie about being roommates?” Zushi asked, holding the paper up for Knuckle to see. He pointed off to Gon’s room and said, “And you two share a bed together?!”

“ _No_ , Christ, I have my own room,” Killua said, gesturing to the closed door. That seemed to pacify Zushi, but did little to stop a tick from forming against Ikalgo’s tightened jaw. 

Ikalgo turned to Gon and said, “Why would you live with him?”

Killua rolled his eyes as Gon hesitated to speak. “Wow, you make me sound like  _such_ a great person,” Killua said, and Ikalgo glared at him.

“I just find it  _interesting_ that you’re living with someone who you’re dating—or not, depending on whether you two clarify that bit. Isn’t this your first apartment, Gon?”

“ _Yes_ , and that’s why this is so embarrassing,” Gon groaned, slapping his hands over his face. “We were scammed. We both thought we were signing leases for a one bedroom apartment. We didn’t exactly  _sign up_ to be roommates.”

“Okay, and then that other bit… about dating…” Zushi prompted.

Before Gon could say a word, Killua put an arm around his shoulders and said, “We’re dating as far as anyone’s concerned—which it doesn’t, concern any of you.” With that, he looked pointedly at Ikalgo, who gritted his teeth, his bandaged hands poised beneath his chin. 

Gon turned beet red. “Can we stop talking about the dating thing? It’s really irrelevant right now—”

“It’s completely relevant,” Zushi squeaked, eyes wide. “First you don't tell me you’re dating Zoldyck here, and now you fail to mention that you’ve been  _living together?_ ” 

Gon looked to Knuckle for backup, but Knuckle simply rubbed a hand over his mouth and said, grimacing, “It’s a bad look, fam.”

Gon’s shoulders slumped under the weight of Killua’s arm. The warmth from Killua’s body only seemed to amplify the scent of his deodorant and cologne, and before he could get too high off of it, Ikalgo gestured with both hands and said, “When did you two meet?”

“I don’t think that concerns you,” Killua said through clenched teeth.

“So this semester,” Zushi concluded. 

“I really don’t think you should be living with your significant other—especially when you two first met just over a month ago. Am I the only one who thinks this is a problem?” Ikalgo said.

“Yeah, and tell that to the scumbag who scammed us,” Killua said, and he would have, too, if he ever came within spitting distance of Pariston Hill again. He hadn’t seen the guy since the dinner party, and wouldn’t likely see him around the club again after Machi and Chrollo got an earful about what a horrific experience  _that_ was.

“I’ve thought about it,” Gon confessed, “but Killua and I aren’t really—” He paused, glancing at Killua. 

When their eyes met, Killua dropped his arm from Gon’s back as he reconsidered everything that brought him back to the apartment that morning. The reason Gon ever crossed paths with that bastard from community college was because of the open space at the dorms. 

Gon swallowed hard, looking at his lap. “I…  _do_ really like you. I guess I’m just hesitant because we’re roommates. And I’ve never  _had_ a boyfriend. I don’t want things to change.”

“You do realize I’ll still be the same asshole when I’m your boyfriend, right?” Killua said. Gon’s eyes snapped up to his, and he looked away, rubbing at his hair. “ _If_ I’m your boyfriend. And I’ve… never  _really_ dated before.”

“ _WHAT?!_ ” Zushi screamed at the top of his lungs, and Killua thought his heart just about flung itself through his ribcage. Zushi recovered with a huff and said, “That wasn’t me I swear.”

“That surprises me,” Gon said. Sure, he had a chat with Kurapika about it, but he had chalked up Kurapika’s comments as unconfirmed theories. 

“Why?” Killua said. 

“Because… you’re so good at flirting,” Gon confessed, cheeks bright red as he ducked his head.

Killua thought to himself,  _Does this idiot realize what strippers do for a living?_ He would have said it out loud, too, if the idiot’s friends weren't all staring at them like they were on the stage of some live soap opera. The compliment had his ears firing up as he pushed off of the ground and muttered, “That’s because you’re easy to fluster.”

He grabbed the tissue box and tossed it onto the kitchen table, passing Zushi as he went. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the guy had his phone out recording this whole affair, but by some stroke of luck, he didn’t. 

Gon stammered, flustered, and hid his face behind his knees and whined, “That—! That’s no fair!” 

“Have you guys looked into the landlord to get your lease business sorted out?” Knuckle asked. 

“Yeah, and the bottom line is that this place costs more then we’re willing to fork over for a one bedroom. Ergo—” Killua said, trailing off as he gestured to Gon.

Gon sighed. “Ergo, it makes sense to have a roommate here. It’s pretty cheap for a two-bedroom apartment, but way too expensive for a single-bedroom,” he explained, and Killua shrugged as if to say,  _There you have it_ .

“Yeah, but I feel like y’all could take this to the city for that lack of communication about, oh,  _I don’t know_ , pairing you guys with a complete stranger?” Knuckle said, only to backtrack and say, “Not that either of you are to be confused with serial killers, but I’m just saying.”

“Yeah, and we know now that it was set up  _specifically_ for us,” Killua explained. “The head honcho of the realtor agency knows  _my_ family and knows Gon’s dad—”

“He’s not my dad,” Gon said without thinking, only to wither when he saw Ikalgo straighten up at the mention of Ging Freecss.

“Wait—Ging’s involved with this?” Ikalgo said, to which Killua went, “You know Ging?”

“Gon’s dad?” Zushi repeated, puzzled. He put a hand to his head and said, “I feel a headache coming on…”

Ikalgo crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged a little, brow furrowed. “I’ve heard of him. My abue got colorful things to say about the guy, but I didn’t realize he was in  _San Francisco_ .”

“You and me both,” Gon sighed. “I haven’t met him yet, but Killua had dinner with him.”

Killua rolled his eyes and said, “Don’t make it sound suggestive. I was merely along for the ride of bailing Ging out of jail.”

“Whoa, hold up—Your dad got arrested?” Knuckle said, twisting around to stare, wide-eyed, at a thoroughly overwhelmed Gon. 

Zushi slapped both hands onto his face and moaned through his fingers, “I need a drink…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMAO usually whenever I write chapters like this (with a lot of dialogue exposition) I scrap them and rewrite but THIS SCENE HAD TO HAPPEN and I didn't feel like summarizing it in a paragraph lol so here ya go hopefully the next chapter will be more of a FEAST


	25. Put Your Head On My Shoulder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gon @ Ikalgo: "Like... I know you defended me and fucked up your hand doing it, but I’m still a hoe for this guy (Killua)."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Bop.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kvazBqAlx58&list=RD9OZXhUx9Xo0&index=9)

**G** on felt as though he had just run a marathon and was still recovering days later. The emotional energy of explaining everything (on top of the  _fit_ he had that morning after Killua left for class) wore him down into nothing but a tired bean on the floor, cradling his guitar. When the conversation ran dry, and all was out in the open—aside from Killua’s profession, that is—Killua suggested that they end the visitation period. 

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” Knuckle sighed. He gave Gon a pat on the back and said, “Thanks for telling us, albeit after… having your arm twisted about it.”

“Yeah, thanks for listening,” Gon yawned from the ground, eyes closed. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“You better promise up, bub,” Knuckle said, holding his pinkie out. Gon shook it with his own pinkie, and that was that.

Knuckle and Zushi left to put their shoes on in the foyer, which brought Ikalgo over to Gon as Killua watched from the kitchen, his arms folded over his chest, and his annoyance with Ikalgo simmering over the surface of his expression. Ikalgo eyed him from over Gon’s head and it took an immeasurable amount of effort not to flip the guy off.

Ikalgo looked down at Gon and said, “Can I talk to you? Alone?”

Gon swallowed hard. He glanced back at Killua, and then at the front door where Knuckle and Zushi waved farewell and left. He really didn’t want to take this to his bedroom, so he clasped Ikalgo around the wrist and pulled him to the foyer. 

At the door, he didn’t bother with shoes. Ikalgo ducked down to grab his sneakers before following after Gon, his wrist falling back to his side. The moment the front door shut behind them, Killua pushed off of the counter and hurried across the wood, skidded down the hallway, and went to the front door to press his ear to the wood and listen.

Gon went to the window at the end of the apartment corridor. There, he hopped up onto the ledge and said, “What’d you want to talk about?”

Ikalgo stuffed his bandaged hands into his pockets and shrugged, glancing back at the door as he said, “Oh, I don’t know, the fact that you’re  _living with your boyfriend?_ ”

Gon frowned, brow furrowed. If his forehead could hurt anymore, it would. “I don’t see why it concerns you,” he said.

“It doesn’t, but I’m worried about you, Gon. And I have a feeling that one of your reasons for hiding this is so that your mom doesn’t find out,” Ikalgo said, and the thought of Aunt Mito finding out about  _all of this_ made it feel like Gon’s stomach acid was eating its way up his esophagus.

He swallowed it down, tense.

“If you’re hiding things from the people you care about, is it really such a good thing?” Ikalgo asked, and Gon said nothing. 

He knew it was irrational for him to hide this from his friends, and in the end, it felt like Ikalgo was just another excuse to keep people from finding out that he was living with Killua and—on top of all of that—was  _crushing on the guy_ .

“I didn’t want to make you feel bad about this—we know now so there’s no point in regretting not saying anything earlier. The more people who know, the more backup you have if things go south,” Ikalgo said, and Gon glanced up at him, eyes glassy with tears. Ikalgo offered a weak smile and said, “It sucks being stuck with an ex—even  _if_ you have separate rooms. And I’m not saying you and Killua will even get to that point, but… just saying, that’ll really fuck a guy up. It’s not good for either party.”

“You say that like you have experience in the subject,” Gon said, pursing his lips. 

Ikalgo laughed, shaking his head. He stepped up to the windowsill beside Gon and leant against it. “Sort of. My mom—she tends to jump from apartment-to-apartment depending on who she’s dating. I never really got to see that since my abue took me in. She’s never really had…  _stability_ . Let’s put it that way.”

“I never knew,” Gon confessed. He remembered asking Aunt Mito about Ikalgo’s mother, back when he was a kid. She held equal disdain for Ikalgo’s mother as she did for Ging Freecss. 

“Yeah, not exactly a topic for casual conversation,” he said, and Gon smiled, rubbing a hand under his eyes as he did. 

As they were sitting there, a set of footsteps came up the stairs to their floor. Gon looked up at the sight of a woman stepping into view, glancing at the number on their neighbor’s door, and then towards Gon and Ikalgo. She didn’t look familiar, so Gon assumed she was a visitor. 

“Hi,” Gon said, smiling despite how crusty his face felt from crying earlier.

“Oh, hello,” she said. She lowered her phone and tipped her head to the side as she looked at Gon and said, “You… must be Gon, right?”

Gon blinked, startled. He never met this woman before—he’d remember someone as beautiful as her if he had, anyway. She was dressed up in a neat suit and pencil skirt, and she came equipped with a paper grocery bag. 

“I, um, yes?” Gon said, straightening a bit as she walked up to them.

She held her hand out to him and said, “Sorry, it’s just—You look so much like my boss. Alluka’s also told me about you. Canary.”

Gon’s heart stilled in his chest as he clasped onto her hand. His mind wound instantly back to the day Gon woke Killua up in a panicked stupor, kicking him directly in the ribcage. It spiraled back to Canary’s comment about her boss, and Gon thought to himself,  _Oh, right, Canary works for Ging_ .

“N-Nice to meet you. Killua’s inside,” Gon said.

The moment Canary thanked him and went to the door, Gon was on his feet in a panic. He wanted to see what Canary needed with Killua, if only to confirm his suspicions. He looked back at Ikalgo with an apologetic smile and said, “Let’s… talk about this later.”

“Okay,” he said, but before Gon could go, he caught Gon by the wrist and said, “What did she mean about her boss?”

“She works for Ging,” Gon explained, and pulled away to follow after Canary through the apartment door, leaving a baffled Ikalgo behind. 

Gon slipped inside and shut the door behind them. He pressed his back to the door,  _dangerously_ close to Canary and her grocery bag as she slipped off her heels. She glanced back at him with a smile before stepping into the hall. Gon stared after her, only then releasing the breath that was caught in his chest.

“Killua!” Canary called out, glancing into the bathroom was she strolled past. “I’m just dropping some things off—Did you get my text?”

Gon jogged down the hallway, chasing after her as she emerged into the living space. The living space was empty, as was the kitchen, the bathroom, and—as Canary peeked in—so was Gon’s room. 

Canary turned around with a frown, lips pursed, the grocery bag balanced in her arms. “He’s not in there,” she said. 

“Maybe… he stepped out?” Gon said. 

“I didn’t see him… these two kids let me in—unless there’s a back door. That might be it,” she sighed. She nudged the grocery bag onto the table and said, “Well, this’ll make my trip super quick then. Alluka’s been on a baking spree, so I brought over some  _choice items_ . We’ve got banana muffins, pumpkin bread, zucchini bread,  _bread_ . I never understood the art of making bread.”

She pulled a loaf of what looked like sourdough from the bag. It was covered in wax paper and Canary put it to her nose, eyes closed, and took a whiff of it. She held it out to Gon, who hesitantly sniffed it.  _Fresh_ .

“That’s good, huh?” she said, smiling. “Killua  _loves_ Alluka’s sourdough. I mean, I love it too, but if she’s mad at me she doesn’t let me have it.  _Which_ is why  _you two_ get this loaf.”

Gon saw the conversational opening and took it. “Why would she be mad at you?” he asked, frowning. 

Canary sighed as she pulled out the pumpkin bread. “Same old, same old. I’ve got a trip coming up for work, so I’ll be in New York for a month. Alluka’s a homebody and she doesn’t like change.”

“Why doesn’t she come with you?” Gon asked.

“Mostly because she’s worried about leaving Killua,” she said. She folded up the paper bag and smiled at Gon. “Otherwise I’m sure she’d consider it. She’s worried about him—but she’s glad he’s got you around.”

She paused to study Gon, her smile slipping. Gon offered encouragement back in the form of a bright grin and said, “Well, we’ve got three years of uni left. I’ll still be here after you guys get back from New York.”

She laughed, and Gon’s heart lightened a little. He didn’t like the idea of Killua’s sister fighting with her wife. “I don’t doubt it. But in the meantime, she can be pissy at me. It’s not like I’ll leave for New York and never come back,” she said as she strolled past Gon. She gave him a pat on the shoulder as she wandered back to the hallway.

As she slipped on her heels, she said, “Tell Killua I stopped by, all right?”

“Of course,” Gon said, and showed her out so that he could lock the door behind her. 

After the door shut, he realized just how much chaos he endured before noon. He put a hand to his forehead and sighed, “It feels like two entire days just happened.”

He wandered back to the living room, only to leap with a shriek of terror at the sight of a body peaking out from under the kotatsu, arms splayed out. His heart leapt from his chest as he realized it was Killua, lying there with his dead eyes on the ceiling.

“Is she gone?” Killua asked.

“Yeah, I—Were you under there the whole time?” Gon squeaked, jittery and all levels of  _shook_ .

Killua rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair, making it stick up at all angles as he groaned and said, “Yeah—I panicked.”

Gon wanted to laugh if he wasn’t still recovering. “Wow, Killua Zoldyck _panicking?_ A rare occurrence,” he teased. He joined Killua at the kotatsu and leant his arms against the table. Killua sat up and leant on his hand, closer to the corner where Gon was sitting with his legs crossed under the table. 

Killua’s hair turned floppy now that gravity was upon it again. He pushed it back and said, “Yeah, don’t get used to it.”

“Do you…” Gon started, only to halt when Killua met his eyes. The striking blue felt like a needle straight through Gon’s soul as he looked down at his hands and thought to himself,  _DON’T ASK!_ “Did… something happen with you and Canary?”  _FUCK!_

Thankfully, all Killua responded with was a scoff and said, “What does  _that_ mean?” 

Gon’s shoulders tensed, a blush spreading up from his neck and to his cheeks. Killua noticed it instantly, his smug expression fading. “Wh-Why are you blushing?” he stammered, and Gon fiddled with his fingers over the tabletop, refusing to look up. “Nothing’s happened between—me and  _Canary?_ What the hell, Gon—”

Gon couldn’t even deny the relief that swept through him. Among other things, the primary concern on his mind was the fact that Canary was Killua’s sister’s  _wife_ . He couldn’t imagine the  _drama_ that would ensue. 

Killua leant against the table, squinting at Gon. “What made you think that?”

At this, Gon’s blush became opaque. He ducked his head down against his forearms and hid his mouth behind them as he muttered the answer, scowling across the room. 

Killua leant closer and said, “Speak up, you bastard.”

“That—That time I woke you up in the morning,” Gon said, glancing sparingly at Killua. Killua was watching him, eyes wide and attentive. “You were half-awake and you, um, said her name. And then kissed me.”

Shock fractured across Killua’s face. Gon put a hand to the side of his own flaming cheek and looked away, thinking back to the kiss—however minor and insignificant it really was. It was his first innocent kiss, but it couldn’t in any way be compared to what Killua had showed him just the other day. When Killua showed him that innocent little pecks were just a minuscule fraction of what they were capable of. 

“I—” Killua started, voice cracking. He cleared his throat when Gon looked up at him. He looked away and said, “Sorry. For kissing you without your permission.”

_That… wasn’t what I expected_ , Gon thought, eyes wide. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because it was a dick move? I don’t know?” Killua said, ears pink. “Just because I was half-asleep doesn’t—Whatever. And where Canary’s concerned, she doesn’t matter now. I used to—I used to have a crush on her when I was in high school, but I’m over it. It doesn’t matter now.”

“You say that like it  _does_ matter.”

Killua rolled his eyes. “It  _does_ matter because you think she’ll interfere with my infatuation with you, is that it?”

Gon let out an absurd noise and gave in to his future career as a squeaker toy. “That—! That isn’t it!” he cried, despite how grateful he was that Killua was being honest with him. The mystery of Canary was solved at long last, and yet he was still flustered about it.

Killua leant towards him, a grin spreading across his lips. “Is it really so difficult to believe that I like you more than Canary?” he asked, as if Gon couldn’t blush any more.

“Y-Yes! She’s beautiful—”

“Sure, but she can’t play the guitar—”

“P-Plenty of people can play the guitar—”  _I’m not special_ .

“—or the accordion?” Killua said, and Gon flustered, a stammering mess.

“That—The accordion isn’t attractive,” he pouted, frowning at Killua.

“On the contrary,” he all but purred, sending a shiver up Gon’s spine. His eyes slid down from Gon’s, past his lips, and to his hands, which clasped onto his forearms as Killua checked him out. He held his breath. _What could he possibly say to make the accordion appealing_ ? he thought.

“It takes skilled fingers to be able to play the accordion.”

Gon reacted without thinking. He slapped a hand over Killua’s forehead and shoved him away, shrieking, “Sh-Shut up!” as Killua fell back, laughing. “You’re so embarrassing! Those are all just instruments I play.”

“Fine,” Killua said, leaning back in. He propped his chin up on his hand and smiled, saying, “You want me to continue?”

Gon knew it would only make him blush more, but after the day he had… this was the lightest he felt since before his encounter with Leol. “Please,” he whispered, his grip tightening on his arms. 

Killua reached forward. His fingers grazed Gon’s, pulling them from where he had a death-grip on his elbow. Killua clasped his fingers over Gon’s. They were warm and calloused—far from soft, but entirely Killua’s. Gon looked down at them as Killua said, “I like being able to tease you. Canary never blushes or gets flustered or…  _embarrassed_ . I like that you aren’t too serious. It’s refreshing.”

Gon bit his lip and, after a moment, Killua opened his mouth to continue. Gon went instead. “I… like that you’re so confident. I wish I had your confidence.” He glanced up at Killua, who watched Gon with wide, blue eyes. Gon scratched the side of his face with his free hand and said, “And I also like that you’re so level-headed. Well, most of the time. You feel so much wiser because of it. Even though we’re only eighteen…”

“Perks of having gone through shit,” Killua said, and Gon laughed a little. Killua smiled. 

“I also like that you play the piano,” Gon confessed in one quick breath. He broke into a grin as Killua laughed. “I like that we can make cool music together. I wanna produce more music with you—even  _if_ you are a hard-ass in the studio.”

Killua smiled and said, “If I wasn’t a hard-ass, you’d fuck around in the studio for ten minutes and call it good.”

“Would not,” Gon pouted. 

They fell quiet, smiling like idiots and holding hands over the table. After a brief moment of silence, Killua broke it to ask, “Are you gonna get the dorm room?” 

Gon looked up at him, expression shifting from shock to a somber frown. He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Unless—I mean, unless you don’t want to live with me. Which is okay! I don’t mind, I get why it might cause problems and I know you wanted a single bedroom apartment so—”

“No, I want to live with you,” Killua said, and before Gon could go on, he added, “I just want to make sure you’re comfortable living with me. I wasn’t sure if I overstepped boundaries or made you uncomfortable—I figured that was why you wanted to move.”

“I never said I  _wanted_ to move,” Gon insisted, shaking his head. 

The two of them visibly relaxed. All of the tension they had built up over the past several days effectively dissipated. The uncertainty about their living situation was dispelled—Killua no longer had to worry about breaking the lease and finding a new place, and Gon no longer had to worry about the security of his position at Killua’s side. 

Long after they both fell quiet, Killua’s hand still clasped over Gon’s fingers, Gon’s quiet voice spoke up, “I like when you kiss me.”

Killua’s heart stammered in his chest. He watched the way Gon bit his lip, looking at their joined hands. Killua straightened, slightly, so he could lean against the table, just above Gon’s eye level. Gon’s eyes followed him as he hesitated several inches away. He could smell Gon’s mint toothpaste on his breath.

Killua sucked in a deep breath and asked, “Do you want me to kiss you now?”

Gon nodded, wordless. When Killua dipped forward, Gon met him halfway, remembering how kissing meant that he needed to  _relax_ his lips, and in doing so, they softened against Killua’s and melted together in a slow, easing pull. Killua pushed in again, tipping his head to the side as Gon braced his hand against the edge of the table and leant into it, pushing up on his knees as Killua’s hand found his hair. Gon’s fingers tightened around Killua’s hand when he felt Killua’s tongue drag along his lips as he pulled away. 

They released, slightly winded, and eyes lidded as they stared at one another from over the corner of the kotatsu. 

Killua ruffled his hand through Gon’s hair. Gon’s nose wrinkled up. “There. Ask me whenever—preferably  _not_ when I have morning breath,” Killua said.

“‘K-Kay,” Gon rasped, dropping back onto the floor as Killua pushed to his feet. He watched Killua walk off to grab his backpack, leaving Gon’s hand uncovered on the table, still warm from when Killua held it all that time. 


	26. Las Pequeñas Cosas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 7k of pure fluff. you earned it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Bop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YZkKF_4XU4o&list=LLTCZyhyrxcVtAAq-g63RwQg&index=3&t=0s)

**T** he next day, Killua woke up to a seemingly empty apartment. This time, however, he reconsidered the state of Gon’s bedroom door: it was closed. The only times Gon ever closed his bedroom door were when he was sleeping. 

Killua checked the clock over the stove. It was early enough for him to make it to class, but just to be certain…

After dressing and brushing his teeth, Killua wandered up to Gon’s bedroom door and knocked twice, his shoulder pressed to the wood. “Gon? You coming to class?”

The silence that followed had Killua second-guessing it. Maybe Gon  _did_ get a head start, in which case, Killua was just standing around and missing his bus for nothing. But then, he heard it—the muffled sound of sheets rustling. Killua sucked in a deep breath and sighed. Gon was awake, but at what cost? Yet another day of classes meant traversing campus and, possibly, crossing paths with the idiot from his community college. 

“I’m gonna come in, okay?” Killua said, just before turning the doorknob. 

He pushed Gon’s door open, stepping over the threshold as he did. Gon’s room was no different from every other time Killua had seen it, albeit, slightly more messy than usual. Gon’s two guitars were on their stands in the corner of the room, and his desk was cluttered with books and papers.

A mound of blankets was on the bed, and as Killua approached it, he caught sight of Gon’s spiky black hair just barely peeking out against the pillow. When he stood there and said nothing, the nerves from the silence prompted Gon to look up at him, untucking his face from the covers.

“I don’t wanna,” Gon whined, turning over and away from Killua. “I’ll get notes from Zushi.”

Killua crossed his arms and resisted the urge to sigh. He knew what it felt like to not have the motivation, energy, or strength to go to school. All of Killua’s high school years could be categorized by these three lacking factors. Even still, he couldn’t relate to  _fear_ of going to class. He was never afraid of anyone in his hometown.

Except, possibly, his siblings.

Killua crouched down in front of Gon’s bed, his elbows resting on his knees. Gon didn’t move. He only moved when Killua pushed a hand into the mattress to level himself over the covers and onto the bed.

Killua rolled onto his back with a groan. His muscles still ached from work the previous night—particularly his shoulders and biceps that relaxed, just a fraction, into Gon’s mattress. 

Gon glanced at him from over his shoulder. “What’re you doing?” he asked.

Killua clasped his hands over his stomach, his eyes on the ceiling. “I’m gonna miss my bus. Which means I’ll probably miss the first half of class.”

Gon groaned, moaning, “ _Killua…_ ” in distress. He nestled his face into the pillow and dragged the blankets over his head. 

“What? I’m just being honest. So what if I miss a day?” Killua said, and while that was true, he knew it was all just a ploy to get Gon out of bed. If Gon wouldn’t get out of bed for himself, he’d get out of bed to drive them both to campus.

“You can’t miss a day…” Gon groaned, wiggling under the covers. He pushed his knees up, bum in the air, and propped his hands up. He frowned, swathed in the blankets like robes and a hood. 

They looked at one another, and Killua couldn’t help but snicker. The lighting from the window gave Gon a ridiculously angelic glow, and that goddamn pout looked too kissable to ignore. 

Killua rose up on one elbow, reaching for Gon with his other hand. “ _Or_ ,” he started, lunging up to tackle Gon to the side. Gon let out a startled shriek as Killua said, “We can just stay here all morning— _Ah!_ Fuck—”

He laughed as the blankets tangled around him, and Gon yelped. Killua rolled onto his back with Gon ensnared in his arms. Gon thrashed, his limbs in the air, until he shed the blanket—aside from what Killua’s arms caught hold of from around Gon’s stomach. 

Killua brought his feet up, knees up, and sat up. Gon slumped between Killua’s legs, his back to Killua’s chest, and rubbed his hands over his face.

_Well, that’s certainly_ one _way to wake up_ , Gon thought, now thoroughly alive. It was odd to have Killua in his room, but it was comforting and not  _unwelcome_ by any means. Still, he felt jittery at the proximity. They were just barely together and it felt like Gon was crossing every single Private Property boundary line.

He leant forward, just to put a gap between his back and Killua’s chest as Killua propped his wrist on his raised elbow and said, “If we go now we could get coffee before class.”

“That… sounds nice,” Gon confessed, quietly. 

He wrapped his arms around his raised knees, fully aware that he could feel Killua’s legs on either side of him. After a moment, the weight of Killua’s head pressed between Gon’s shoulder blades, and a shiver scurried up Gon’s spine. 

“K-Killua,” he stammered, blushing profusely. 

Killua closed his eyes and hummed, “What?”

“What’re you doing?”

Killua straightened a bit, his forehead leaving Gon’s back as he asked, “Is this okay?” And the moment he did, they both grimaced as they remembered the roommate agreement, and the fact that Killua had broken one of the rules. “We should probably talk about boundaries,” he said. 

“I don’t—! It’s not that. I don’t mind you being in my room,” Gon said, twisting around. Killua’s knees fell to the side as he relaxed back on his hands. Gon’s eyes met his as he said, “Really. I don’t mind.”

Killua knew it was naïve of Gon to say that, no matter how genuine it felt. Perhaps it was the sincerity of it that  _made it_ so naïve. And sure, Killua had never seriously dated anyone before, but he knew what his boundaries were and that he could very easily take advantage of Gon’s naïveté. 

Killua tipped his head to the side and said, “Okay, but I still think we should keep some walls up. And also get coffee because class starts in half an hour.”

“R-Right!” Gon squeaked, jolting forward. He barrel-rolled over Killua’s leg and spun off of the bed, his feet hitting the floor at a half-sprint for the door. 

Behind him, Killua propped his chin up on his hand, his elbow on his knee, and resisted the urge to laugh. He recovered by the time Gon was in the bathroom brushing his teeth, and with sore arms, pushed himself off of Gon’s bed and to his feet. He picked through Gon’s clothes and rediscovered an outfit they had picked out when they went shopping all those weeks ago. He wandered into the living room to grab his backpack and held the clothes out to Gon when the kid came running out, this way and that, gathering his things for class.

They were out the door in under five minutes. As they walked to Gon’s car, Killua caught Gon frowning, his forehead wrinkled. Killua corrected himself, “By ‘walls’ I don’t mean, like, prison walls. I mean more like guardrails.”

“Oh. Okay,” Gon said, rubbing at the side of his face. He tossed his backpack into the back seat and said, “I guess I’ve just never done this before.”

“Me neither,” Killua said, and when Gon mentally slapped himself for forgetting, Killua added, “I grew up with four siblings though and know that if I leave my door open, someone’s going to steal something.”

“I wouldn’t—! I would never steal anything!” Gon cried. 

Killua rolled his eyes, dropping into the passenger’s seat. “I know that. That was an extreme scenario. The point being: You deserve your privacy and I deserve  _my_ privacy, so I think asking permission is the least we can do for each other. And I’d be okay just foregoing permission and settling on invite-only.”

“O-Okay, yeah, that sounds good,” Gon said. He pulled the car out of the parking lot and in the direction of Bisky’s coffee shop. “Have you… ever shared a bed with someone?”

“Just for sleeping?” Killua asked.

Gon looked at him sharply, eyes wide, and Killua rose an eyebrow at him. “What—! What else would I mean by that?!” Gon squeaked. 

Killua blushed and stammered, “E-Eyes on the road! Christ!”

They made it to the coffee shop—barely—as Gon came to terms with the fact that Killua had, seemingly, slept with other people. He wasn’t sure why that came as a surprise to him. Of course people could sleep together and not date! What was he, a prude? 

Killua held the door to the shop open for him as he said, eyes off to the side, “Don’t… make a big deal out of it. Dating is way different than a single one-night stand.”

“I’m just… surprised. We’re  _barely_ college students and you’ve already—” Gon started, only to stop at the glare on Killua’s face. “S-Sorry!” he said, voice cracking. 

“It’s fine,” Killua sighed. He looked away, only to glance back at Gon, who was a blushing mess in the line for the cash register. His heart twisted in his chest, and before he could fully comprehend it, he reached a hand out to Gon and nudged his arm. “Hey, take my hand.”

Gon looked down at it. Hesitantly, he clasped onto it, and Killua linked their fingers together and shook them in front of Gon’s face, startling him. “I’ve never done  _this_ bullshit. This is new for both of us.”

“O-Okay,” he said. 

At the cash register, Gon ordered his matcha and before he could end it there, Killua asked for a mocha. The cashier rang them up and Gon looked down at their joined hands and said, “I need my hand to get my wallet.”

Killua had his phone out and held it up to the scanner. “No you don’t,” he teased. The cashier cleared the payment and Killua waved his phone in Gon’s face, saying, “The wonders of Apple Pay.”

“I can pay you back,” Gon said. 

“No, I don’t mind.”

“Then I’ll pay for the next one?”

They looked at each other as they stood at the end of the counter where Bisky was pulling shots of espresso for their drinks. Killua rose an eyebrow when he caught her grinning at them, and Gon giggled, smiling so wide his eyes squinted. 

“Hey, Bisky,” Gon said. 

“Hey, hot shot. You still on for Wednesday next week?” she asked, and Gon confirmed it. When she slid the mocha across the counter, Killua took it and squinted at her when she winked at him. 

They continued on their way after obtaining The Goods (the matcha). Campus was packed with students trying to get to class, and so the parking structure a complete shitshow to navigate. On the third floor, they snagged a spot and were quick to vacate the premises under the ticking clock that inched closer and closer to the start of lecture. 

Gon groaned as he cradled his cup in front of him and said, “I guess I’ll be ‘ _that_ person’ who comes in five minutes late with Starbucks.”

“You forget this is my second semester here,” Killua said, tugging Gon by the arm towards a dormitory. “Which means I know all the shortcuts. Follow me.”

They skirted around the back of the dorm and around the garden behind a lecture hall. They walked over the grassy hill and came to the side of the lecture hall building, precisely where a side entrance was that Gon had never seen before. It looked vaguely like an emergency exit, but when Killua nudged it open, the alarm didn’t blare. 

Gon stood in the entrance, dumbfounded. He had no clue where to go from there, so Killua took the lead, and Gon trailed just behind him, his hand extended to keep hold of Killua’s fingers.

When they strolled through the open lecture hall door, Professor Isaac was present, and the majority of the class was already seated. Gon startled at the way everyone’s eyes seemed to gravitate towards Killua—but not just Killua, though. Their hands were still linked together, and Gon was still trailing just behind Killua’s shoulder, eyes widening at the attention.

Killua, likewise, stilled for a fraction of a second. He looked back at Gon as he took to the stairs. Gon startled forward because,  _oh, right,_ they had to take their seats. When they reached the fourth row, Killua stepped to the side to let Gon hurry to claim the seat beside Zushi. When he sat, he didn’t expect to hear Killua’s backpack hit the ground next to him, or even hear Killua sit beside him. 

Zushi and Knuckle seemed just as shocked. They leant over to stare at Killua, who reclined back in his seat, arms crossed, and looked indifferently ahead. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Gon, Zushi, and Knuckle staring at him, though. 

Killua stretched an arm back and dropped it over the back of Gon’s chair, the look on his face saying, “ _Problem?_ ” He met Gon’s eyes then, and Gon looked sharply away, a fraction of a smile tugging at his lips. 

Class went on as normal, and when it ended, Gon felt warm from his head down, tingling with the sensation of Killua’s arm behind him. He pulled away, though, to vacate the seats so they wouldn’t waste Zushi and Knuckles’ time.

“I’m gonna be performing again next Wednesday if you guys wanna come,” Gon said as they all made their way down the steps. 

“Will it be as chaotic as last time?” Zushi deadpanned, and Knuckle snorted.

“N-No! I don’t think—I don’t have any other drama, I swear!” Gon cried, fists clenched at his sides. 

Zushi snickered at him, and Knuckle ruffled his hair. Gon wrinkled up his nose at them as Killua came to stand beside him, his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt. Zushi’s smirk softened into a faint, yet fond smile as he said, “I’m glad you two worked out.”

Gon’s throat tightened before he could stop it, and the look on his face was obvious enough to startle Zushi into yelping, “Don’t—! There’s no need to  _cry_ about it! Gon!”

Gon sucked in a deep breath, the tension behind his eyes making it feel like he had a disgusting head cold. “I’m fine. I’m just happy,” he said. It was more than just a relief to hear that Zushi was okay with his relationship. 

“Such a sap, Freecss,” Knuckle said, and Gon laughed, rubbing a hand over his dry eyes. “I was wondering how long you’d stay single. First Tinder, now this?”

Zushi elbowed him in the side and Killua grinned when he caught sight of Gon blushing. Gon reached back to reshape his hair as Killua said, “I don’t know how long I would’ve stood for your Tinder phase.”

Zushi gasped with a laugh, clapping his hands. Knuckle covered a hand over his face and said, “Oh  _shit—_ ”

He was cut off by a scream down the hall. Knuckle flinched and Gon jumped, startled, as a beast of a man came barreling down the hall and crashed straight into Knuckle. Knuckle staggered under the full weight of Uvogin, who rubbed his unshaven cheek against Knuckle’s face. 

“Oh, God! It’s like  _sandpaper_ ,” Knuckle cried, shoving a hand into Uvo’s shoulder to pry him off. 

Zushi threw his head back and groaned. “ _Enough_ with the  _PDA_ . You two are ridiculous.”

“Ri-dick-ulous,” Uvo corrected, swinging to the side with an arm still slung around Knuckle’s shoulders. 

“It’s not PDA,” Knuckle said, glaring at Zushi.

Zushi half-covered his mouth so only Killua and Gon could see him whisper, “ _It’s PDA._ ”

Killua dropped an arm around Gon’s shoulders. Gon jumped, eyes wide and cheeks bright red as Killua grinned and said, “Does this count?”

“Yeah, but it’s lower on the spectrum,” Zushi said. 

Uvo slapped a hand on Knuckle’s chest, and Knuckle grunted, the breath knocked out of him. “How about this,” Uvo said, giving Knuckle’s chest a few affectionate pats. 

Zushi put his hands on his hips. “We aren’t having a PDA contest here—”

Gon was abundantly aware of some of their peers down the hall watching and recording. That, however, flew out the window the second Killua planted a kiss on his temple and grinned, saying, “And how about that?”

“We aren’t kissing,” Knuckle droned, and put a hand up to block Uvo’s kissy lips from panting one on his cheek. 

“A PDA contest?” a familiar voice sounded from behind them. Gon straightened sharply, looking back to where Ikalgo walked up between him and Zushi. 

Zushi pinched the bridge of his nose and said, “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

“What’re you doing here?” Gon asked. He lowered his arm around Killua’s torso, his fingers clutching the fabric of Killua’s sweatshirt. Everyone he hugged felt  _different_ , and Killua followed the trend. He would have been all skin and bones if it weren’t for his profession, which gave him a density that Gon could latch onto without feeling like his aggressive affection would snap Killua in two. 

Killua pointed to Gon’s arm and said, “Where does this land on the spectrum?”

“Disgustingly cute,” Zushi seethed through clenched teeth. “I’ve got no one to compete with.”

Gon scowled at Killua and said, “We aren’t competing. I just feel like I gotta put my arm somewhere when yours is around my shoulders.”

Before Killua could respond, Ikalgo asked, “Does dancing count?”

Zushi shrugged, indifferent. “Depends. Obviously if Knuckle and Uvo start grinding, I’d count that pretty high on the spectrum.” Knuckle put a hand to his chest in offense, and it landed directly over the one Uvo still had slapped over his shirt. 

Ikalgo hummed and said, “I was sort of thinking something more like this—can I see your hand?” 

Zushi looked down and rose it up, only to squeak in alarm when Ikalgo lifted it up and, with a light tap on Zushi’s shoulder, spun him like they were in the middle of a ballet studio. Zushi’s sneakers squeaked on the tiles just before the dramatic dip, at which point Ikalgo asked, “Is this on the spectrum?”

Gon clapped eagerly and Uvo whistled. Ikalgo popped Zushi back up, and Zushi staggered, spun, and gathered his footing with a hoarse, “Yeah. Yup, any form of dipping. Definitely… on the spectrum somewhere. Mhm.”

All of the talk about dancing had Gon thinking,  _Killua’s good at dancing_ . He looked over at Killua as Uvo slapped Zushi on the shoulder and said, “You’re on the board now! Nice!”

The hallway had long since cleared up by the time they were ever interrupted by another person, and by then, Uvo had tried to dip Knuckle twice whilst Ikalgo demonstrated using Zushi as a stunned, flustered dummy. 

Retz took one step out of the lecture hall with Professor Isaac several paces behind her. She froze at the sight of Knuckle’s face upside-down where he was unwillingly dipped by Uvo. Uvo looked up as Retz said, “Uh… What’s going on?” 

Knuckle's foot slipped and he went down with a shout. Uvo grimaced as Professor Isaac slipped past and said, “Ah, to be young again.” 

“Sorry professor,” Knuckle grunted from the floor, rolling onto his side. 

The group of them watched their professor leave and waited until he was out of earshot to say a word. When the door shut, Retz stepped over Knuckle’s limp body and went to Gon and Killua.

“Gon, I was hoping to get your address for this weekend,” she said.

_This weekend?_ he thought, confused. It took a moment for his brain to catch up to the situation, and the deadline on their group essay. “Oh! Right, of course,” Gon said and proceeded to scramble to dig out a pen and paper from his backpack. 

He jogged over to a nearby wall, abandoning Killua in the process, and used the cement bricks as a makeshift tabletop to write his address out for Retz. She plucked the slip of paper from Gon’s hands and examined the address with one skeptical brow raised. She addressed Gon with pointed hum and pocketed it. 

“Alrighty then. I’ll get the projector sorted out and then I’ll see you two  _lovebirds_ Saturday morning,” she declared, and as she walked off, Killua scoffed, “ _‘Lovebirds_ ’,” like it was the most disgusting word he had ever heard. Retz heard him and turned to stick her tongue out at him. 

“What’s happening Saturday?” Ikalgo asked. 

“Practice and demoralization,” Knuckle sighed, but when Ikalgo rose an eyebrow at him, he said, “Oh, you mean what Retz was talking about. We’ve got a group essay project. Retz, Killua, and Gon are in the same group.”

“Oh… and who is Retz?” Ikalgo asked.

Zushi turned to Gon and Killua to say in the driest voice possible, “Do you guys wanna tell him or should I?”

“She’s not that bad,” Gon said.

“She’s made her career on gossip about  _me_ ,” Killua corrected. “If I ever make a LinkedIn, all my connections will probably be funneled from  _her_ fanbase reading shit about me.”

“I’m sure that won’t happen,” Gon said, pouting. “Besides, I’m excited to watch a movie with her. She seems nice.”

“She takes pictures of you without your knowledge,” Zushi said, and when Gon looked to him with a frown, Zushi shrugged and said, “She snagged that pick of you at Fishermen’s Wharf with Kurapika.”

“Yeah, of which I was aware of,” Gon insisted, but it did little to convince any of them about Retz’ integrity. “Well, I’m not concerned.”

“Did… she say y’all are meeting at… Gon’s apartment?” Knuckle asked, raising an eyebrow at them. “Am I the only one who heard that?”

Gon glanced at Uvo then, the only one who hadn’t been present the previous day. Uvogin shrugged, arms folded over his chest, and Zushi explained, “He knows by association with Knuckle, I guess.”

“I mean, what  _else_ are you supposed to talk about at the gym?” Knuckle said. 

“Speaking of the gym,” Ikalgo said, “I actually have to get going. I just stopped by to see if you made it to class today, Gon.”

Gon sucked in a deep breath to keep his heart contained. Never in his life had anyone other than Aunt Mito checked in on him like that. Secretly, he had been jealous of Knuckle and Uvogin’s friendship—most days Uvogin made a point to meet Knuckle after class to hang out, and Gon had wanted something like that every damn day the previous semester when everyone seemed to be against him.

But now everyone was with him, and it bubbled up into barely-restrained tears that had Zushi crying, “Wh-Why are you crying again?! Gon!”

Gon rubbed his hands over his eyes, smiling as he said, “S-Sorry, I’ve been so emotional lately. I never used to be like this before last semester.”

“I didn’t make a point to come here to make you cry,” Ikalgo said, and it startled Gon into laughing, smiling behind his hands as he fought back tears. “Are you feeling… I dunno,  _better_ after yesterday?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine now,” Gon promised, nodding quickly. He brandished a tight, yet sincere smile for Ikalgo and said, “Really. Thanks for checking in.”

Ikalgo studied him for a moment. Hesitantly, he nodded, and glanced at the others as he stepped back from the group and waved, saying, “I’ll see you guys later then.”

“Wait!” 

Ikalgo paused, raising an eyebrow. Gon startled when he realized that  _he_ was the one to say it. He floundered uselessly, mouth ajar. He glanced back at the others. Killua crossed his arms at the desperate look Gon gave him. 

He knew precisely what was on Gon’s mind, and it broke one of the rules of their apartment that no longer mattered.

“I know it’s for a class thing, and the movies might not be exciting,” Gon started, slowly. “But… it’d be kinda fun to have a movie night with everyone?”

Zushi blinked owlishly at him before startling at the sound of Knuckle shrieking, “Hell yeah! Let’s fucking  _do it_ , dude.”

“Mo-vie night! Mo-vie night!” Uvo chanted as Gon rose his voice to say, “Okay, technically it’s not at night, it’s in the morning, but  _yes_ , definitely.”

Killua rubbed a hand over his forehead and sighed and, try as he might, he really  _couldn’t_ find an excuse to be annoyed. Especially not when Gon gave him that tooth-rotting smile after the idiot just emerged from three days of emotional torture. Succumbing to a social event was the least he could put up with.

But something told him this event wouldn’t be torture at all.

Before Saturday could come, however, Tuesday had to end. As per Gon’s disastrous sleep schedule, his days didn’t end until two in the morning, which Killua was due to return from work. It was habit by then, and mostly coincidental, but things had changed. Specifically, Gon’s outlook had changed.

He was back on his bullshit.

He didn’t like to be alone and, sitting in the empty apartment solidified this fact. Perhaps it was the paranoia, or perhaps it was the way he used to crave having  _someone_ —anyone, really—to spend a night or two at his apartment. He would have been  _such_ an incredible host, he was sure of it, to whatever boyfriend he managed to snag in San Francisco.

In the midst of shutting the living room curtains, Gon paused.  _Boyfriend?_ he thought, frowning. Until yesterday, Killua had never been categorized as anything other than a roommate and a crush. A really,  _really_ powerful crush. So crushing, in fact, that Gon’s heart could hardly take it. 

He yanked the curtains shut and frowned, scratching at his hair. “What am I categorized in Killua’s head?  _Am_ I categorized?” Gon wondered. 

All of Killua’s insistence that all of “this” was new to him didn’t exactly put a word to it.  _Dating_ .  _Having a partner_ . What was “this” and why wouldn’t Killua just  _say it_ ?

“Am  _I_ supposed to say it?” he thought aloud, pacing the floor. It was too confusing and too much effort for his poor, overworked brain. All he wanted was to hug something other than a pillow and squeeze the  _life out of it—_

A key turned in the front door lock. Gon jumped, startled, and habit had him lurching towards his bedroom door. He paused halfway up the steps, looking like Sasquatch on the run, when Killua stepped through the door. 

“Welcome home!” Gon said, straightening, voice cracking. 

Killua looked up from his shoes. He had seen the living room light on from the street, but it was so different from entering the space and feeling at once at peace with the world. Commuting late at night made him more than a little anxious, despite how routine it was by now. He had spent the entire bus ride thinking about how  _ready_ he was to pass the fuck out after a nice long shower. 

He felt gross from work, sticky with sweat and hands textured from the pole lubricants. He tossed his duffle into the laundry room as Gon came to stand at the foyer archway, expectant, and the action reminded Killua of a puppy. Gon’s doe eyes didn’t exactly help the matter. 

“I… have a question. For you,” Gon said.

“Okay, I have to take a shower though—” he started just before Gon blurted out, “Wouldyouwanttosharearoomtonight?”

They stared at one another, speechless, until Gon seemed to realize what, exactly, he just blurted out. Killua’s heart stammered in his aching chest at the realization that Gon really just  _asked that_ . On the same exact day they talked about boundaries, no less—granted, it was two in the morning the following day, but their days ran longer than the average person because of that. 

In that regard, Killua considered himself lucky that he scored a roommate with an equally fucked up sleep schedule. 

“I, um—let me think about it,” Killua said, and the breath Gon was holding escaped him in a winded sigh. “I’m just really gross right now. From work. So…”

“R-Right! Yeah, take a shower,” Gon said in a rush, ushering Killua to the bathroom. 

Killua staggered into the bathroom and turned just as Gon shut the door. He nearly slapped his hand to his face but thought better of it and instead set to work warming up the shower and brushing his teeth. 

_Share a room with Gon?_ he thought, frowning at himself in the mirror as steam gathered behind the shower door. He supposed he didn’t really mind, and the look on Gon’s face when he said it nearly made him laugh. 

He spat out his toothpaste and rinsed his mouth clean. 

Meanwhile, as Killua cleaned up, Gon went on a panicked cleaning-spree through his room. He only stopped when he heard the shower shut off, at which point he dug through his clothes for fresh lazy clothes. He defaulted to a pair of sweatpants and plain t-shirt and, almost immediately after changing, Killua emerged from the bathroom.

Killua padded barefoot across the apartment, a black towel around his waist. He caught sight of Gon peaking out of his room to see, to which Killua held a hand up like  _that_ would stop Gon from seeing. “Don’t— _look_ . I still need to put clothes on.”

“Oh! Right, sorry!” Gon yelped, ducking out of view again. Killua laughed as he disappeared behind his bedroom door. Gon flattened his back against the wall next to his door and took a deep breath that was meant to calm him down, but it just made him feel winded. 

Killua put his back to his door and flattened a hand over his bare stomach, clutching at the towel.  _Fuck_ , he thought, wondering how in the hell he was supposed to fall asleep when his heart was racing like this. 

The living room was dark when Killua emerged, fully dressed. The streetlights that streamed through the living room curtains guided his path to the faint glow seeping through the crack in Gon’s bedroom door. He nudged open the door and hesitated to go further until he saw Gon look up from his phone where he was tucked away under the covers. 

Gon straightened a little and said, “How was work?”

Killua’s chest felt twisted and tight and all levels of  _anxious_ . He wondered how the fuck he could make a living off of flirting and being sexy, but when it came to shit like  _this_ , he was rendered  _useless_ . 

He cleared his throat as he shut the door behind him and said, “Uh, it was good. Okay, I guess.”

“Two very different things,” Gon chastised with a frown, and it brought a smile to Killua’s lips as he came to the side of Gon’s bed and lowered himself down. 

“I don’t know. Nothing weird happened, so that’s… good,” he said through a grimace as he turned the lamp off beside Gon’s bed before settling in. 

He felt like he wasn’t allowed to move. He laid, stiff, on his back as he swallowed hard and folded his hands over his stomach. “There was a work party tonight. Not my work—like, some company downtown. They booked the whole VIP section.”

“Oh,” Gon said. The light from his phone disappeared, and the sudden darkness had Killua glancing over to make sure Gon was still there. He could vaguely see the shadowy shape of Gon’s hair, and as his eyes adjusted to the street lamps outside, he could see Gon’s eyes from the faint dot of light that reflected off of them. 

“Are you okay with this? Sharing a bed?” Gon asked in a whisper.

It felt like they were at a slumber party, hiding the fact that they liked each other from all the other people in the room pretending to sleep. 

“Yeah,” Killua said, hushed. He turned onto his side, calmed by the darkness. Gon couldn’t see his blush, or feel it with this distance between them. Killua had his own pillow, and Gon had his, so there was a comfortable gap between them that allowed them to breathe without smelling each others’ breaths, or worry about just how clammy their hands were, or how fast their hearts were beating. 

“Okay, good,” Gon whispered, nestling into the pillow. 

Killua swore Gon closed his eyes, and even if he did, Killua couldn’t sleep just yet. His energy from work was still tingling under the surface, as it always did, and always would. It would always prevent him from sleeping at a normal time in the evening. 

“I’m sorry about… all that fuss Zushi and Knuckle made. About PDA,” Gon said. 

“You don’t have to apologize for that. Why are you apologizing?”

“‘Cause I don’t want you to feel obligated to… show affection in public? I don’t really know,” Gon confessed, rubbing at the sheets between them. Killua became acutely aware of the fact that the blankets weren’t covering his own shoulders, so he tugged them up, and Gon shifted a bit closer. “How do you feel about that kinda stuff?”

“I haven’t really thought about it,” he confessed. “You tell me what you like and I’ll tell you if I think the same.”

“Um… okay,” Gon agreed, clearing his throat. He kept his voice low, his eyes closed, and said, “I… like holding hands.”

“Okay, same.”

“I like when you put your arm around me.”

“Bet.”

Gon snorted and opened his eyes, grinning. “What about you? Do you like to put your arm around me?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t like it,” Killua said, rolling his eyes. 

“Okay, then what if I put my arm around you?”

“Mm… I dunno. I’m kinda taller than you.”

“What? No you aren’t,” Gon laughed. “Be serious.”

“Then fine, you can put your arm around my shoulders me if you can reach them,” Killua said. 

They laughed as Gon nudged him in the rib, and Killua wrestled his arm away. 

“What about kissing in public?” Gon asked. 

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then let’s not do it,” Killua said, and Gon agreed. “What about on the cheek or forehead, what do you think about that?”

“I’m okay with that,” Gon decided with a firm nod.

“Okay, same. Mood.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he laughed.

Killua mocked in a valley-girl accent, “‘ _Mood. Oh my God, same hat_ .’”

“ _Stop_ , oh my God,” Gon cried, giggling so hard he snorted. 

Killua’s cheeks hurt from smiling. He brushed a hand through his damp hair and belatedly apologized for getting Gon’s pillows wet because of his late-night shower. Gon brushed it off with a shake of his head and said, “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” 

They fell quiet, but Killua could still see the glint in Gon’s eye that told him that Gon was still wide awake. Killua shifted a tad bit closer, putting him on the edge of his pillow. Gon was in the same boat, just across the gap between their pillows. 

“What made you want to  _invite me over_ , so to speak,” Killua asked, quiet. His voice didn’t feel like his own when he spoke so softly. 

“I’ve just… always wanted to know what it’s like. To sleep next to someone,” Gon confessed. His brow furrowed as he added, “When I got to San Fran, I was kinda hoping to have someone by now. That I could have over all the time and hang out with and snuggle and stuff. Cute relationship stuff.”

_By now_ , Killua repeated in his head, wishing he had known this long before he idiotically bought flowers for Gon. He wouldn’t have known, exactly, how much Gon craved romantics if he hadn’t bought Gon flowers. 

“I think…” Killua started, slowly. His mind was racing over everything—from what Gon had told him before they ever started to think of each other differently, to the way he felt when Gon looked into getting a dorm room. “I think that… since I don’t want to move. And you don’t want to move…”

“You don’t want to move?” Gon said, and Killua gave him a droll stare.

“Of course not. Not now, anyway,” Killua said. “I think we could really work out. And I think we can manage being roommates and being… in a relationship.”

“Killua, are you asking me out?” Gon said.

Killua was so floored he blurted out without thinking, “I—! We’re already dating, aren’t we?! I thought yesterday we made that pretty clear with your friends.”

“I didn’t know!” Gon groaned. 

“We might have to work on our communication,” Killua sighed, and Gon groaned again, flinging his arms over his face. Before he could get too overwhelmed, Killua went on, “What I was  _saying_ , was that since I’m not exactly in the market to get a studio anymore, I could work a bit less. And we can hang out more.”

“Oh,” Gon said, lowering his hands. “I—I’d like that. But I don’t want you to cut your hours just for me.”

“It makes sense,” Killua insisted. “Right now I’m just building a savings, so I  _could_ potentially just… not work for a bit. I have enough for four month’s rent and utilities now, maybe a bit more—”

“Holy cripes!” Gon cried. “That’s a lot of cash!”

“Hey, I make bank with this ass, what can I say?” Killua huffed, giving his hips a little wiggle. “And besides, I still owe you a lap dance.”

Gon yelped in alarm and covered his face. “Oh, God, I forgot… I don’t even know if I’d  _like_ lap dances…”

Killua laughed and said, “Yeah, so I’d have time for  _that_ , but also I’d like to go on a date. I feel like we can’t say we’re dating unless we go on an actual  _date_ first.”

“O-Okay, what were you thinking?” Gon asked, and Killua merely smiled and shook his head. He wouldn’t say until the right time on the right day in the right circumstances. 

Before that could happen, however, they required sleep, which they acquired nearly half an hour later, when they were able to shut up for more than five minutes, which was just long enough for Gon to fall asleep.

Killua stayed up a short while longer, listening to Gon breathe and the light traffic outside of their apartment. It was odd sleeping in a different bed, and while it was comfortable, it didn’t quite feel like  _his place_ . It wasn’t familiar, but he decided that would take time, and they had plenty of that together.

The sunlight fell differently in the morning as well, but Killua’s alarm sounded just the same. It woke Gon first, startling him into motion before realizing that the only reason Killua’s alarm sounded deafening was because it wasn’t muffled through a wall this time around. He relaxed, heart still straining in his chest as he reached over to Killua’s bright phone screen displaying the time and the snooze button. 

Only after that task was done did Gon realize that he was leaning entirely over Killua, who was still fast asleep, hugging the pillow with both arms. 

Gon stilled, eyes wide. His aching heart sped up again, warming his chest and his half-awake limbs. It was cozy, comfortable, and Killua smelled like shampoo from his late-night shower. The last time Gon got this close to Sleeping Killua, he wound up kicking the guy in the stomach.

Killua squinted open one eye, barely focusing on Gon. Gon lost his breath, completely caught. Not only was he  _staring_ at Killua again, but he was also hovering over Killua’s shoulders with his hands on either side. It took a second for either of them to do anything, and Killua was the one to break the silence. 

“Five more minutes…” he groaned, turning over and towards Gon with an arm extended. He clocked Gon in the shoulder, nudging him off. 

Gon bounced onto the mattress, only to be ensnared by Killua’s arms. Gon stilled, alarmed and wondering just how conscious Killua was. And then Killua’s breathing steadied out, and Gon realized that, alas, Killua was still asleep. But he knew better now than to kick Killua in the morning, and so Gon settled in, rest assured that the alarm would be blaring soon enough. He tucked his face into Killua’s chest, his forehead pressed to Killua’s collarbone, and closed his eyes.


	27. I Write Sins Not Tragedies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Last Bop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vc6vs-l5dkc)

**“I** really  _don’t_ want to be in a TikTok,” Killua said, but his insistence did little to convince Kurapika. If anything, it just egged him on. 

“I know you know the dance,” Kurapika said.

“Yeah, because I  _sent it to you_ . I thought we could do something for the stage— _not_ a damn  _TikTok_ ,” Killua said. He’d be lying if he said he couldn’t fall asleep without getting a few TikToks in, and the habit nearly slipped away entirely until Gon, half-asleep, became entirely too invested in Killua’s dim phone screen the night before when Killua sent the dance over to Kurapika. 

And by Friday night, Kurapika had watched it a dozen times over and had the choreography committed to memory. When Killua came into work that evening, Kurapika had pawned off his phone to Leorio under the impression that Leorio would be their camera man. 

“I’ve got a  _bar_ to run, dude,” Leorio said.

“The drinks can wait—I gotta see this,” a customer said, waving Leorio off and eliciting a laugh through the group of people he was with. 

Kurapika gave Killua a “ _you see?_ ” look, and Killua gave him a dull stare that slid into a smirk when he caught the intrigue on the customers faces. He feigned disinterest, arms crossed and a grimace on his face until they egged him on with compliments and requests for a…  _TikTok dance_ . 

He sighed, dramatically relenting, and gave them a bow. “Well, if you  _insist_ .”

Leorio recorded the several takes it took for their choreography to sync up. When it did, Kurapika took the phone back, the customers got their drinks, and they all cheered and spread a round down the table full of vodka shots. Killua took one the moment Kurapika sent the video off to the great wide web and let the alcohol sent a hot flush through his system. 

Killua drank on the job plenty of times—read:  _most_ of the time—but that night, he got particularly wasted after a few fourth year students from a nearby university tipped him to film another video—this time  _with them_ and a dance they invented. After yet another successful video, he was three shots in and  _feeling it_ .

Working at a club had plenty of perks. On weekend nights, it felt more and more like a fucked up frat party, especially considering the number of college kids that came by. Drinking, talking, dancing, _lap dances_ (people did that at frat parties, right?) and just like every frat party, there was an entry fee that sexy motherfuckers didn’t have to pay (Killua and the other dancers). Unlike a frat, however, Killua was getting paid to party, and he considered that a bonus.

Later in the evening, though, when things mellowed out, Killua was back on the pole until two in the morning when he metaphorically clocked out for the night. 

Killua’s head felt heavy as he sat on the bus that early, early morning scrolling through videos and memes. His brain was still sloshing with alcohol, and continued to do so as he staggered off of the bus at his designated stop. As the bus continued on, he paused to look across the street to his apartment building, where the living room window was still lit. 

A faint smile tugged on his tired lips. He frequently forgot that his new “normal” involved coming home to the company of his favorite person. 

_Weird_ , he thought as he crossed the street.  _I’ve never had a favorite person before_ . 

It seemed like an off-handed thought, but the more he considered it, the more he realized how he looked forward to his interactions with Gon. He never  _really_ despised the thought of seeing Gon, even from the start. He had only ever avoided Gon when his work was a secret. 

His legs ached as he climbed the steps of the building. He took a breather at the end of the hall, stretching his arms and legs out as he went. They were tight from the bus ride, and they would sink oh-so wonderfully into his mattress that night. Or perhaps Gon’s mattress. He wasn’t quite sure what the plan was, and he wouldn’t know until he opened the door and heard Gon’s bright voice chime, “Welcome home!”

“Hey,” Killua said, smiling as he nudged his shoes off and kicked them to the side. He locked the door behind him as he wandered down the hallway and tossed his duffle in front of the laundry room door. “How’s it going?”

Gon was perched at the kotatsu, a text book open, his guitar out, and a sheet of music paper beside it all. Gon lifted his pen up from the paper and said, “It’s good. I was just working on something—but you can’t take a look at it yet! I wanna finish it first ‘cause you might not like how it is right now and—”

“Alright, chill,” Killua laughed, blocking his view of the music sheet as he walked past. “I work again tomorrow night so you’ll have the place to yourself.”

“O-Okay,” Gon said, scratching his head with the end of his pen. He pouted as he studied the page and continued thinking as Killua went to fetch clean clothes and a fresh towel from his room. 

Killua emerged, scrolling through his phone, and as he passed on the way to the bathroom, he put Kurapika’s TikTok in front of Gon. “That video we saw yesterday. I sent it to Kurapika and this is what happened.”

Gon gasped, amazed. He clutched at Killua’s phone and cried, “Whoa! Amazing! You guys are so talented—! Hey, where are you going?”

“To take a shower,” Killua said, waving his clean clothes out. “I’ll be right back.”

Gon slumped over Killua’s phone to watch the video again, and again, and again for all ten minutes of Killua’s shower. It fascinated him how anyone could move  _that well_ . 

_It’s better than the original_ , Gon thought as he investigated the likes and comments. It was nearing half a million views, and he thought to himself,  _Good! Killua deserves that level of recognition!_ He wished the whole  _world_ could see Killua move like that! And, in his curiosity, he wondered if Killua was in any other videos that Kurapika posted. It sent him on a deep-dive through Kurapika’s TikTok, which primarily took place in the club. Considering they danced all the time anyway, Kurapika’s videos weren’t really focused on that. They were borderline ASMR as he did his makeup for the night. There were some of his pole dancing practices, and one of his videos even had over a million views. 

Killua came back to Gon still glued to his phone, watching Kurapika’s content. Killua laughed and said, “Dude, you know you can watch it on your own phone?”

“Yeah, but you gave your phone to me and I just didn’t turn it off—I was too fascinated,” Gon said, his hand all but chasing after it when Killua extracted his phone from Gon’s clutches. Their eyes met and Gon opened his mouth to ask that they spend another night together.

“You wanna sleep in my room tonight?” Killua asked. 

Gon floundered for a second. Heat flushed to his face. Sure, it was one thing to ask the same of Killua, but to have Killua ask  _him_ ? It was too much for his heart to take. It defied every last spec of doubt he had in his head that told him that Killua was just entertaining him.

Gon put his hands to his cheeks and looked down at his textbook, smiling like an idiot. “I, um, yeah, that’d be nice,” he said.

“Okay, cool,” Killua said, “I’m pretty exhausted so I’m probably gonna pass out as soon as I hit the mattress. So…”

“Oh! Right, yeah, you’re probably super tired from work! Let me just clean up my stuff—”

“Oh, no, take your time—”

“It’s fine! Just gimme a sec,” Gon said, shutting his textbook and stacking his papers. He ran to put Melvin 2.0 back and, once in his room, jumped into his pajamas for the night. 

Killua was just opening his bedroom door when Gon skidded out of his room. Killua jumped, startled, and hurried through the door to avoid being flattened by Gon cruising in. 

Gon flung himself at the bed and rolled towards the wall. He wiggled under the covers and waited, beaming with his face just barely tucked underneath the sheets. Killua could still see his rounded cheeks, though, where they gave away the smile. They huddled in together, the light from the window casting a bluish glow into the room where Gon huddled close to the edge of his pillow, and watched Killua sigh from exhaustion, half-groaning from the pain of his sore muscles. 

“You okay?” Gon asked in a whisper.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Killua said. “Just thinking about tomorrow.”

“It’ll be fine,” Gon promised. He reached a hand out to Killua’s stomach, where Killua’s hands were clasped together. He linked his fingers between Killua’s as Killua’s breathing leveled out and he fell into a dead-to-the-world sleep. 

Gon made sure his alarm was set before closing his eyes and preparing for a temporary death. They woke up similarly to how they had the night before. Killua didn’t move a damn muscle, which meant that their fingers were numb against his chest. Gon weaseled his free hand out from under the pillow to shut off his phone alarm. They had an hour before Retz and the others were due to arrive, which gave him a  _little_ time to hit the snooze button. 

He put his numb hand a little further around Killua, nestling close so his cheek could rest on Killua’s arm. Killua sighed in his sleep and turned towards him. Gon smiled until Killua kept turning—and turning—and turning until he flattened Gon beneath all of his compact muscle.

Gon grunted, trapped with Killua’s head on his collarbone and his hair tickling Gon’s chin. Killua’s arm tightened in a vice-like grip around Gon’s torso before settling with a deep breath. The warmth and weight of his body would have been suffocating if Gon wasn’t so endeared by being inadvertently tackled like that. 

He wrapped his arms around Killua’s back and closed his eyes against the morning sunlight leaking in through the window. He sighed, content and comfortable in an otherwise unfamiliar room. He recognized the smell of Killua’s shampoo after their previous night, and he recognized the tidiness that always seemed to follow after Killua. The clean, neutral furniture, the “Ikea aesthetic”, and the fact that Killua didn’t have a single piece of clothing out in the open. 

The room smelled fresh. Gon took a deep breath and released it through a sigh as he rubbed a hand up and down Killua’s back. 

When it came time to get up, Gon shook Killua about until Killua roused enough to consider himself mostly awake. Killua sat for a moment, squinting, completely dead to the world as his brain booted up for the morning. Gon tipped his head against Killua’s shoulder as the two of them sat on Killua’s bed, soaking in the sunlight and preparing for a new day. 

Gon kickstarted his morning with a shower while Killua made breakfast and coffee. He was back to singing in the shower and blasting music whilst doing so, and Killua found it laughable and, honestly, a little contagious. He felt heavy from work the previous day, but it didn’t stop the bounce in his step, or the rock in his hips as he flipped French toast on the stovetop.

Gon burst out of the bathroom strutting to the beat, his phone still blasting the music. He hopped into the middle of the room singing and swinging his arms to and fro as Killua feigned indifference and delivered the food to the kitchen table. 

“‘ _[C](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pMxJgBoosU0)omo tú me tientas cuando tú te mueves_ ,’” Gon sang as he danced off to grab something from his room, and when he came back, Shakira’s verse came up, so Killua casually sang, “‘ _Te dicen por ahí que voy haciendo y deshaciendo—_ ‘”

Gon skidded straight off of the living room steps with a clatter. He yelped, swinging his arms wildly to catch his footing. Killua paused, eyes wide and his hand just then pulling his chair back. 

Gon and Killua stared at each other from over the length of Shakira’s verse. Gon’s ears went red as he stammered, “You—!”

“What?” Killua said. 

“You speak  _Spanish?!_ ” Gon cried.

Killua squinted at him and gave an exasperated shrug. “ _Everyone_ learns Spanish in high school.”

Gon scrambled over to the table, clutching the surface of it like his life and sanity depended on it. “Uh,  _yeah_ , and literally  _no one_ has an accent like  _that—_ ”

“To be fair—I was just singing the lyrics–” he started, but Gon would have  _none of it_ .

“¿Por qué no me dijiste?[1] ” Gon cried, and Killua startled at the realization that  _shit_ , he actually had to comprehend that.

“I—! I’m not  _good_ at it!” Killua exclaimed, flushing with embarrassment. Sure, he could speak it, but that didn’t mean he had the slightest idea what he was saying. 

Gon relaxed a little, sighing with a laugh. “Oh, okay. Phew.”

Killua squinted at him again and said, “Why, what’ve you and Ikalgo been saying in front of me?” 

Gon turned bright red in the blink of an eye. “N-Nothing!” he screamed, voice cracking, and Killua snickered and said, “You told him about my dick, didn’t you?”

“ _I’VE ONLY SEEN IT ONCE!_ ” Gon shrieked. “A-And why did you act dumb when I talked about the tololoche?” 

“I wasn’t  _acting!_ I seriously don’t know what a trololoche is—” Killua said, and Gon slammed his forehead onto the table, rattling the plates. “G-Gon!”

Breakfast consisted of Gon picking out his favorite songs and ordering that Killua sing them while Killua sighed and said, “I don’t know that song,” while Gon grumbled incredulously under his breath and went back on the hunt. Killua popped a slice of French toast into his mouth and thought to himself,  _I guess I’ll have to do my research and learn all these songs_ … 

He really screwed himself over with this one. 

When their designated movie time approached, Gon set to work cleaning up the apartment, dragging pillows and blankets in, and arranging cushions against the stairs so they could pretend they had a couch. He shut the curtains over the living room windows, which darkened the white wall across from the stairs. 

Zushi, Knuckle, and Uvo were the first to arrive. Gon ushered them in eagerly, beaming from ear-to-ear as they came equipped with junk food and soda. Shortly after them, Ikalgo and Retz arrived after having bumped into each other at the entrance.

“I… didn’t realize this was a party,” Retz said, her hands on the straps of her backpack. 

“Oh, it’s a party for the rest of them, but the three of us have work to do,” Gon reassured, smiling apologetically as she and Ikalgo toed off their shoes. “Make yourselves at home!”

The living room was buzzing with energy where Knuckle and Uvo were fighting over the blankets. Retz paused at the archway, just past the laundry room door where Killua stood guard, waiting for everyone to vacate the area. She glanced back at him with a faint look of confusion. He shrugged and gestured for her to join the fray. 

Gon helped Retz with the projector. They stationed it at the kotatsu and, once there, it was just a matter of propping it up with books and hooking it into Gon’s computer. They focused the screen until the image became “crystal clear” (it looked like shit, according to Zushi) and distributed the snacks in preparation to begin the film.

Gon settled in next to Zushi, who was busy with a bag of Cheetos. They all rotated bags through the film, sharing snacks, and shushing one another when the banter got too loud. Gon took notes while Killua sat there with his arms crossed, indifferent, even as Gon turned to him and whispered, “Shouldn’t you be writing stuff down?” to which Retz replied, “I’ve only seen him take notes  _once_ in class.”

“Yeah, and that was for Gon,” Killua whispered back. 

“I still have those,” Gon confessed, tapping his pencil to his chin. “Haven’t read them though…”

“For shame,” Killua said before popping a Dorito into his mouth when Zushi held the bag across Gon to the rest of them. Killua stretched an arm back over the pillows and quietly criticized Gon’s handwriting through the remainder of the film as Gon grumbled and erased things, flushed from the proximity of Killua’s arm to his shoulders. 

They went through two films. After the first film, the whole crew left to take a breather outside and walked around the block so Gon, Killua, and Retz had a chance to digest the content and plan ahead for their essay. Gon enjoyed that time as he watched from afar as his friends all but adopted Ikalgo into their group. He supposed it helped that Ikalgo was on the track team, which was entirely why Knuckle and Uvo ever found each other. It was a relief to see that his childhood best friend was doing just fine.

At the end of the afternoon, when the second film was complete, Retz snapped her notebook shut and interrupted this broadcast with fresh new tea. Gon was in the middle of opening the blinds when Retz said, “Now that all that’s done, I have an interesting video to show you guys.”

She extracted her laptop from her backpack and set it on the kotatsu. She swapped the HDMI cord from Gon’s computer to her own, and Zushi whispered, “Ooh, this has  _got_ to be juicy. I wonder if it has to do with Ikalgo punching that guy—” Ikalgo elbowed him in the rib when Retz looked at him, eyes wide. 

She pointed at Ikalgo and said, “I’m intrigued, but tell me later.”

She tapped open a file on her computer and from the freeze-frame, Killua’s heart plummeted. Gon stilled at the window, frozen by the familiar sight of Killua in his work lingerie, but instead of Kurapika, he was with a group of college kids at  _The Phantom_ . 

“Fuck,” Killua cursed under his breath as silence spread across the room. Retz hit play. 

The video was bound to go viral—anything on TikTok had that possibility—but he underestimated how quickly it would spread. And, it seemed, he underestimated his work makeup was. It wasn’t a complete disguise from humanity, or Retz, for that matter.

Zushi straightened, startled, and cried, “Is—Is that—? Holy  _shit—_ ” He clasped his hands over his mouth as Killua glared at him and every last one of those idiots staring at him. 

“Listen…” Killua started with an exhausted sigh, like seeing the video drained several years off of his life, “I can explain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> [Tumblr](https://killugon-memes.tumblr.com/)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sarahjeancorner)  
> [My phone number](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ)  
> 
> 
> 1 **¿Por qué no me dijiste?** = "Why didn't you tell me?!"  
> [return to text]

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Spark and a Flame](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24481900) by [ScarletEyesInTheNight123456789](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletEyesInTheNight123456789/pseuds/ScarletEyesInTheNight123456789)




End file.
